


Crystal White

by BreLakor



Series: Through Prism and Shade [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Slavery, Throne Kink, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 39
Words: 78,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreLakor/pseuds/BreLakor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the beast inside him, his shame that he couldn't control that festered and grew with each injustice that passed before his eyes. She was given to him to try and appease it. But not even her love could have stopped the fall of their empire. </p><p>Originally a kinkmeme prompt! Sort of AU Solas/Lavellan where Lavellan is a slave in the days of Arlathan who is given to Fen'Harel.</p><p>(I have tagged non-con for this story as it is implied, but it will not be explicit. Also, in light of a recent shit-storm that erupted on tumblr, I would like it to be known that the implied non-con in this story does NOT involve Fen'Harel/Solas with Lavellan and I have tried to address it as respectfully as I can.)</p><p>Chapters 1- 16 are set during Arlathan<br/>Chapters 17 to 39 are set during Inquisition<br/>The Arlathan part of the story can be read by itself if you aren't interested in the Inquisition part.</p><p>Story is 'complete' as of the end of Inquisition. However a sequel may be done when more content is released by Bioware!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As the description says, this is AU. And kind of not AU at the same time. It's AU in that obviously Lavellan wasn't around in the times of Arlathan, but I'm thinking to eventually tie it in with the actual Inquisition storyline... (but I won't be writing the entire Inquisition story, just briefly tying it in!)
> 
> Just a few notes:
> 
> \- Thank you to the original OP on the kinkmeme for prompting this!
> 
> \- There will very likely be mature content in this fic at some point, but there will not be non-con. As in there will not be non-con involving Solas/Fen'Harel and Lavellan, and there will also not be explicit non-con. There may be hinted non-con in the past, but it won't be explicit.
> 
> \- I'm just going to refer to Solas/Fen'Harel as Fen'Harel for the most part of this story so it doesn't get confusing, lol
> 
> \- I'm taking some liberties on Arlathan and what we know about the other elven god's given that Inquisition basically told us 'Hurr hurr, everything you know is wrong!', so if some of it seems weird or out of character, well... I'm just going to put it down to the fact that we don't really *know* what the hell happened during the days of Arlathan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover at the start of this chapter by the lovely http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/ <3

 

Theirs was a glorious empire, one that spanned the breadth of the world and dominated everything in its wake. But it was carried on the backs of the unwilling, run on the blood and sweat of slaves who didn’t know any better than to accept their lives as they were. It made him sick to think of it, made his blood boil that morning when he walked through the market. A marketplace for the trading of lives, not food or crafts.

 

He was one of the few who did not own others, and he was the only one who did not even keep servants. He lived alone in a foreign world that should have been familiar, the pariah and rebel in everything, even in his name. Fen’Harel, the rebel wolf. It was a feral, angry beast that stirred inside him. It had always been there, rivalling the fury of Elgar’nan’s himself. And each year, each decade and century that passed, it became harder for him to control it. Every injustice that played out before his eyes, every wasted slave’s life, it fed and nurtured the rage, made it a festering, uncontrolled mess that boiled inside him and clawed for a way out.

 

Today was the day when he lost the fight, when he completely and wholly submitted to the beast and showed the world that what had once been a gift he could control at will, what he had once used to sprint across plains and nations, had now become a liability.

 

She was only a girl, barely old enough to leave her mother’s side, but she was the one that started it. He saw her in the marketplace, collapsed on the ground at the feet of her master and cowering. Her master, dressed in robes that marked him as one of Elgar’nan’s most faithful and loved, spouted angrily at the girl for failing her duties, for failing him. She was terrified of him, her eyes brimming with tears that glinted in the bright morning sun. The master’s hand glowed a warm red and she screamed, her skin blistered and burning as her punishment for being a poor slave.

 

It was that act that broke the tenuous remains of Fen’Harel’s control. How many times had he watched a slave beg and scream under the hands of their master, how many times had he watched them die, their lives irrelevant to their owners who would simply replace them with another. He couldn’t stand by this time; she couldn’t even have been ten.

 

“Leave her,” he demanded and the master stared at him as the girl continued to burn. He could not truly command respect out of this man who served another god, but the simple fact that Fen’Harel was a deity in himself, it would give the man reason to pause. And he did, the magic flowing from his hand halted and he stepped away, seething at Fen’Harel as he glowered and knelt beside the girl who had started sobbing.

 

 

She flinched away from him, which spoke volumes of what she’d experienced at the hands of those with bare-faces, but she stilled when he placed a hand against her thin, malnourished arm and allowed magic to flow into her and heal her wounds. She gazed up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, her face branded with Elgar’nan’s symbols, and he read in her eyes the shock of someone who had never been shown mercy from someone with an unadorned face before. He healed her wounds as best he could and stepped back as she scrambled to her feet.

 

She ran towards her master out of habit, and even if it pained him, he knew he couldn’t free her without invoking Elgar’nan’s wrath. And every god and their favoured knew how many times he’d done that recently. Every conversation turned to an argument and clashing of wills until Mythal eventually interceded.

 

The same goddess that kept them from killing each other stared at him from across the marketplace, curiosity and the faintest hint of understanding playing across her features. She did not keep slaves like the others. She kept servants, and it put them on a level of understanding that Fen’Harel had never achieved with any of the other deities. Beside her was her most faithful, a serious, almost pensive looking man who devoted his life to protecting her and wore her marks on his face as a voluntary sign of his service, and not because it was forced upon him.

 

A scream ripped through the air and Fen’Harel jerked to follow it, his eyes landing on the slave girl and her master. She was laying on the ground motionless, dead, her master sneering at her in disgust.

 

The beast inside him welled up in fury and he was shifting into a white, foreboding wolf before he could try and stop it. He lunged at the master, pinned him to the ground and sank his teeth into the man’s neck. Blinded by rage he did not hear Mythal shout, pleading with him as he ripped at the veins in the master’s neck, severed them and mauled his throat. His mouth was filled with blood, his fur stained red with it when he managed to wrench back control. He staggered backwards as he slipped into his elven form, the metallic taste of blood saturating his tongue and the fluid staining his lips and teeth.

 

Horrified, he raised a hand to his mouth and when he pulled it back, it was warm and sticky. Mythal’s hand laid on his shoulder and he stared at her, read the disappointment and sadness in her eyes as she softly whispered his name. They both knew not even her words would spare him Elgar’nan’s wrath this time.

 

\---

 

All they did was bicker and argue amongst themselves, trying to prove they where the better or to win a pointless, irrelevant disagreement. Andruil was the worst of them all, so blinded by her bloodlust and rage that she would undo their empire with a flick of her wrist if it meant proving a point. The twin god’s, who’s relationship surpassed any kind of conventional description, rarely involved themselves, and their indifference was as damaging as Andruil’s temper. The rest did not help with their varying degrees of apathy and fervour that changed and stayed as fleetingly as the wind. He’d long ago given up trying to argue with them, now he simply watched from his throne as the women festered and spat at each other in the centre of the room, and the twins watched carefully from their own seats that were dotted around the circular room.

 

But Fen’Harel did not sit properly and regally as they did. He lounged on it sideways, his head on one arm rest and his legs swung over the other. It was a petty, stupid thing to do, but even defiling what should have been a sacred room with his poor behaviour satiated his need for rebellion, if only slightly. Even the way he wore his dark hair, in long, thick, messy dreadlocks was a deliberate scoff at the elves uncanny beauty and their obsession with it.

 

Then the furious, livid footsteps started to fall and the room fell silent and he pushed himself from his throne, because he knew what was coming.

 

“Wolf,” Elgar’nan hissed as the god entered the room, Mythal hurrying after him and begging reason from one who would never see it while he was blinded by vengeance. Fen’Harel sneered at him for using the pet name he loathed so much. “You’re nothing better than a savage _beast_.”

 

 Magic flashed from Elgar’nan’s fingertips but he countered it with a flick of his wrist. They were evenly matched in talent, and it was to the detriment of the throne room they stood in as wild magic sparked from each of their hands and clashed and fought for dominance. It culminated in a furious whirlwind of power in the centre of the room that made the walls rumble and shake, pieces of rock falling from the ceiling as they tore the room apart in their pointless battle for dominance.

 

“Enough!” It was Mythal that interceded. It was always her. She raised her hands, drew on all the power she had and dispelled the volatile mess of magic they’d summoned. The force as it dissipated sent all of them flying and Fen’Harel grunted as his back smashed into a wall. He picked himself up, poised to defend himself if he needed to, because he didn’t put it past Elgar’nan to defy his lover. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

 

“This fighting solves nothing,” she continued and Elgar’nan scoffed and glowered at Fen’Harel.

 

“A blade to his throat would solve _him_.” Elgar’nan emphasized the word as if he didn’t even deserve to be named. “That is what you do with feral beasts that do not learn, is it not, Andruil?”

 

“It is,” Andruil murmured and he saw the flash of desire in her eyes at the thought of slitting his throat.

 

“He has lost control to the beast,” Elgar’nan addressed Mythal. “Do not pretend it is otherwise, his display in the marketplace is proof irrefutable.”

 

“Then I will show him how to control it,” Mythal responded with a determined stare.

 

“You cannot teach a wolf to defy its nature.” Even before he’d finished his sentence Elgar’nan would have known he would bend to her. He shook his head, jabbed a finger at Fen’Harel and added, “Tame that thing that rages inside you, or I _will_ have your head. We are done here.”

 

Then, Elgar’nan turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Silence stretched between the rest of them for minutes until Mythal quietly spoke to Fen’Harel.

 

“You will meet me in my temple tomorrow morning.” It was not an offer, it was not a suggestion, it was a blatant command. Even if he respected her, the fact she was instructing him clashed against his very nature and he flinched. But he would obey, because he was surely dead if he didn’t.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to give Abelas a cameo because... I love him, lol
> 
> Also thank you to all those who have been kind enough to leave kudos or bookmark this!

The eluvian’s magic rippled over him as he slipped through it, it’s faint, wispy tendrils cloying at his robes as he stepped free from the mirror. He strolled lazily through Mythal’s temple, his robes dragging behind him and catching on the twigs and roots that scattered the ground of her home. Then he heard their voices and he hesitated, pressed a pale hand against a stone pillar and listened to them speak.

 

“This is not wise,” Mythal’s protector and guardian begged. From what small interaction Fen’Harel had had with him, he’d come to recognise him as an entirely depressing, mournful man. Fitting then that his name, Abelas, meant sorrow. “He will balk at the sight of her, at the very _idea_ -”

 

“I have seen her heart,” Mythal replied calmly.

 

“She is mute; convinced she is no better than-”

 

“Quiet.”

 

Recognising that there was little point in eavesdropping any longer, Fen’Harel stepped towards them. The confident smile that graced Mythal’s features when he approached them made him wary. She looked far, far too pleased with herself and he frowned, his eyes narrowing as he cast his gaze around the room.

 

“There is no need for such suspicion when I only bring you here to give you a gift,” she chided.

 

“Elgar’nan has given me many gifts in the past,” Fen’Harel replied carefully. “They tended to involve bruises, so you will forgive my hesitation.”

 

“This will involve nothing of the sort.” He still didn’t trust her as she beckoned. One of her servant girls slipped out from behind a pillar and approached. The best response he could manage was to raise a sceptical, confused eyebrow at Mythal who simply chuckled at him.

 

She gestured towards the girl. “Take her.”

 

He stared at the goddess for several moments as if she’d gone mad. Finally he managed to croak out, “What is this?”

 

“This is Lavellan. She was one of my servants, and now she will be yours.”

 

“I do not _want_ her,” he spat angrier than he’d intended, because if Mythal thought the way to stop his rage overcoming him was to give him something that repulsed him every time he looked at it, she was seriously misguided.

 

“But you will take her.”

 

“I will not.”

 

“Do you prefer the alternative?”

 

He could only stare at her. Clearly spending decades playing mediator between the gods had seriously ruined her ability to think rationally.

 

\---

 

He took the girl, if only because refusing would have brought Elgar’nan snapping at his heels and he knew Mythal would not defend him a second time. He wasn’t sure what to make of the servant girl, Lavellan, whatever he was meant to address her as now. He’d never wanted someone waiting on him, so the moment he brought her to his home he left her alone and walked away, wondering if perhaps she might leave if he ignored her presence. But she followed him. Very insistently. Through winding corridors and stairs she followed, until, frustrated, he spun around and she halted immediately in her tracks.

 

“Leave,” he told her. She stared at him with big, violet eyes.  “Bother someone else. I do not want you.”

 

Not a muscle in her body twitched. He sighed, cursed Mythal for what she’d forced upon him and pinched his brow. Whatever the point of her plan was, he couldn’t fathom it. The girl continued to gaze at him as if she was incapable of independent thought, which, he realised with a pained sigh, was probably more accurate than he realised. He shooed her, but all it achieved was her jerking away from him and then returning to standing there, waiting on him for instruction.

 

“Go do whatever pleases you.” He paused to see if she would react. She didn’t. Evidently doing what she pleased wasn’t something she was familiar with. “Clean, then.”

 

She blinked at him. He frowned at her. And then, in a split second, she turned on her heel and scurried away, presumably to undo the years of mess that had been accumulating in his home. Poor girl could spend months trying to make his place presentable, but compared to the fate others bestowed on their servants and slaves... He snarled at the thought and continued stomping up the stairs to his quarters.

 

\---

 

It was cool beneath his fingers, smooth, precious metal with delicate raised strips that wound and twisted across it in an intricate, elegant pattern. It hummed with energy in his hands, this orb of his that was as much a part of him as his heart. He’d poured so much of himself into it, perhaps too much for now he couldn’t be without it. Absent-mindedly he traced the patterns on its surfaced as he sat in a chair in his quarters with one leg draped lazily over the arm of it. It was peaceful here. Quiet. It had not been an accident that he made his home away from anyone else, only accessible by the eluvians. He refused to call it a temple, either. He was one who did not wish to be worshipped, not any more. The idea that he should put himself above others simply because he-

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the subtle creak of a door. He turned to stare in the direction the noise had come from. And he found nothing. Dismissing it as a particularly stubborn memory cloying at the veil, he returned to his thoughts.

 

The other god’s, even Mythal to an extent, expected to be worshipped and praised. They expected others to bow at their feet, to-

 

A soft patter of footsteps wrenched him to reality once more. He snapped around, trying to pinpoint the noise and found only his bookshelf. His surprisingly tidy bookshelf. Gone were the tomes scattered on the floor collecting dust, the rotting alchemical reagents that he’d left lying on the shelves. It looked... organised. It was not something he was particularly accustomed to seeing. In fact, it surprised him so much that when a set of fingers pried his orb out of his hands he didn’t even register it for several moments. When his brain slowly put the pieces together he whipped around and was met with the sight of the girl crouched on the ground before him, rubbing his orb on her clothes. Which he now noted where filthy.

 

Had she tried to clean his entire home with the fabric of her clothes because he hadn’t thought to provide her with anything else? He grimaced at the thought. Then remembered what she was holding in her hands and rashly blurted, “Give me that.”

 

She flinched away from him, stuffed the orb in his hands and scurried away. And he could only groan and curse Mythal once more for inflicting this upon him.

 

\---

 

Tracking her through his home after she ran from him was not difficult, he only had to follow the bright spirit he could feel blaring against the rest of the dull emptiness pricking at his senses. And failing that, he could have just followed the trail of cleanliness. She was huddled in a corner when he stumbled across her, rubbing insistently at a filthy bowl that had several decades ago voided the chance of ever being made clean again. He crouched beside her but she didn’t even acknowledge him, so he sighed, took the bowl from her hands and placed it on the ground.

 

He watched her hesitate, watched the confusion dance across her features for minutes until she finally glanced up at him with those same big, curious eyes. She might have been pretty to him if her face wasn’t ruined by being covered in Mythal’s symbols. She would have been pretty to other masters. Fortunate for her then that she would have been spared their touches by being in direct service to Mythal. Her clothes where filthy though, and he sighed because he realised it was more or less his fault. He would buy her new ones.

 

“Do you speak?” Her lack of a response was an answer in itself. He shook his head and gazed at her. For all the servants he’d seen working for Mythal, she was nothing like the rest. So fearful and submissive she acted around him, it made him wonder if the goddess wasn’t being entirely truthful with him.

 

He stood and extended a hand to her. She stared at it as if she couldn’t decide if he was going to hit her or help her. When he muttered, “Come with me,” she cautiously placed her palm in his and let him pull her to her feet.

 

He led her to his eluvian, opened it with a casual flick of magic from his wrist and took her through the crossroads and to a marketplace. The moment they stepped out in public, she latched onto his clothes and squashed herself against him. He frowned, attempted to pry her away but she had a surprisingly good grasp and he couldn’t command her to do anything without feeling terrible about it. She was timid enough as it was without him ordering her around.

 

Unlike earlier where he’d killed the man for doing the same to his slave, this marketplace was nestled in mountain ranges with a bitter wind sweeping through the open area and snow blanketing the ground. White flecks dotted his black robes and his bare feet hurt as they pressed against the frozen ground. He reached effortlessly for his magic, creating a bubble of warm air that followed him and engulfed them both.

 

People stopped and whispered as he brought her to a stall, clearly not accustomed to seeing the god who’d spent so long fighting against slavery now having a scared girl with a marked face clinging to him. The rumours would fly and half the empire would know before the end of the day. But he was particularly good at ignoring what people thought of him.

 

“Which one do you want?” he asked and gestured towards the clothes the merchant was offering. She didn’t respond. He suppressed a groan. It was going to take a while for him to get used to watching over someone who didn’t speak.

 

“Can you point, instead?” _Or is that beyond your capabilities too?_ he mused but chided himself soon after for being frustrated with her for acting the way she did, when it could only be the fault of another that she was like this in the first place. 

 

She peered up at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. Cautiously, she pried one hand from his robes and gestured at a dress. He bought it and held it out to her. She gazed at it for several moments, and then let go of him completely and took it from him. The expression that danced over her face was difficult for him to describe, but the best he could manage was that it was the look of someone who genuinely had never been given anything before and didn’t know whether to be happy or suspicious. She seemed to eventually settle on happy, because she grinned at him and he shrugged awkwardly and began trudging back to the marketplace’s eluvian. She followed, but rather than before where she’d latched onto him and refused to leave his side, now she plodded along a few steps behind him, her eyes engrossed in the gift she’d received.

 

He stopped when he saw the master shouting at her slave. The beast raged and spat inside him, his lips curling into a sneer as the nails on his fingers turned to thick, pointed claws and his teeth grew into fangs. Then something cold and wet was flung into his back and he snapped out of it as quickly as it’d come on. He glanced over his shoulder and the servant girl was standing there, one hand behind her back, staring at him innocently. Except the longer he watched her, the more he noticed the mischief bubbling beneath the surface. With a single, well placed snow ball she’d quelled his anger, and, he admitted, probably saved that slaves life. He did not doubt the slave would have been killed if he attacked his master.

 

Perhaps Mythal had known what she was doing after all.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, you people are so kind with your comments and leaving kudos... thank you! :)

When he slept Fen’Harel was tortured by his dreams. They had been the driving force that made him delve into the Fade deeper than most others were willing to go, so that he could control the nightmares and twist them until they no longer existed. If he didn’t bend them then he was forced to relive his memories from a time he wished he could have forgotten. A time when he’d been no better than the others, when he’d traded and wasted lives and thought it acceptable to keep slaves bound to him. And he’d done horrendous things to them, forced himself on the women who didn’t have a choice but submit to him and punished the men who disobeyed him.

 

His only saving grace was, where so many others wouldn’t, he had changed. But the memories where still there, reminding him of what he had once been and could become again if he was not careful. He’d learnt to shape his dreams so his guilt would leave him and he could sleep in peace. It was selfish to deny the lives he’d wasted their justice, but he had always been a selfish person.

 

That night proved markedly more difficult for him to twist and forget what he’d done as he slept, because with that girl in his home his dreams kept dragging back to her, and from her they led to his past. He tossed and turned, slept so poorly that when a soft pair of lips pressed to his own, it pulled him easily from his slumber. A tongue ran across his lips, tried to pry them open and warm, delicate hands splayed across his chest as hips ground against his.

 

He let his hand cup the face before him, allowed his fingers to tangle in their hair and then his dazed brain connected the dots and he pushed whoever had climbed into his bed away so roughly that he received a surprised gasp in return. Horrified, he clumsily lit a brazier with a burst of magic and as the light filled the room he found himself staring at the servant girl.

 

“What are you _doing_?” he snapped, but the answer was so plainly obvious that he needn’t have bothered to ask, it’d fallen from his lips as a symbol of his repulsion more than his confusion. “Do not...” He struggled with the word as he tried to force it from his lips. “Do not _offer_ yourself to me. Do not try and pleasure me again, just...” He sighed, because she stared at him with a look on her face that spoke volumes of one who thought it was her fault for not being desirable to him.

 

“I will not make you my slave,” he added gently and she peered at him for several moments, her violet eyes dancing with confusion and underneath... the faintest tinge of something he couldn’t place. “Just leave. Please.”

 

She hesitated, her brow furrowing but then she crawled off the bed and slipped out of the room. He half wondered if she’d still be there in the morning but somehow he knew she would be. A mindset like that would take far more to break. A mindset that was far more like that of a slave than a servant.

\---

 

“Mythal,” Fen’Harel called as he hurried after the goddess, because he would have answers from her before they reached the throne room, even if he had to delay her and deal with the ire of the others for being late.

 

“Fen’Harel,” she acknowledged and paused to face him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“You had me for a fool.”

 

She smiled at him. “I did no such thing.”

 

“The girl, she-”

 

“Lavellan,” Mythal corrected.

 

“Lavellan,” he hissed and continued with his arms crossed over his chest, “She is not a servant. She is less than that, a slave in everything but name.”

 

“I did not deceive you when I told you she was my servant.” Mythal’s eyes flickered with satisfaction and it grated at his already frayed nerves. “Though, what she was before she came to me...” She trailed off but her point was blatantly clear.

 

“ _Why_?” He emphasized the word so strongly it sounded like little more than a bark. “Of all things, for all I have done to stop-”

 

“Do not claim the moral high ground with me,” Mythal snapped, “You kept slaves for age upon age before you twisted yourself into being their saviour.”

 

He could only stare at her, shocked that she’d have the gall to bring up his past when he’d done so much, sacrificed so much and yet... She was correct. He could not deny it.

 

“I gave Lavellan to you because someone needed to bring you to peace with your past. You do the people no favours while your crusade is entirely motivated as a backlash towards your guilt.” Her palm reached up to cup his face and he scowled at the floor because he did not want or need her concern or affection. “You would destroy everything if you continue on your path of blinded rage.”

 

Her touch slipped from his face and she offered him a gentle smile. Then she was gone, leaving him to staring at nothing before he heard the irritated beckoning of Elgar’nan further ahead, chastising him for his poor timing to their meeting. Fen’Harel hurried to catch up before he started another spat with the other god.

 

\---

 

By the time they’d finished arguing and bickering in pointless circles, Fen’Harel was so frustrated and sick of all of it that he stalked through his home with a foul look on his features and his hands balled into fists at his sides. What the servant girl was doing didn’t even cross his mind. He’d avoided her entirely that morning and left without giving her even the slightest of instruction. What she’d done all day with her time he didn’t know, and in that moment, he truly didn’t care either. If she was so weak-willed that she couldn’t even take the initiative to fight for her freedom, when it was so blatantly presented to her on a silver platter, then he couldn’t-

 

His thoughts abandoned him as he stopped abruptly in the doorway to his quarters. The door was ajar. Silently, he pushed it open and he found her sitting on the floor beside his bookshelf, tomes scattered around her haphazardly and one open in her lap, her attention so engrossed in it she was oblivious to her surroundings. He truly did not know what to make of the scene before him. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

 

He approached as quietly as he could so as not to startle her, but her brow furrowed at the swish of his robes across the floor and her eyes, ever so briefly, flickered up from the book in her hands to him. It shattered the moment and she scrambled to hide what she’d been doing in vain, because she could never have hidden the fortress of books that was surrounding her. Her features danced between guilt and fear, and when he pushed some of the tomes away and sat in front of her, she flinched and threw herself flat against the ground before him, trembling. He sighed.

 

“Sit up,” he chided as gently as he could, but she didn’t move. His patience already wearing thin, he reached for her arm and tried to pry her off the floor, repeating slightly more commanding this time, “I said, sit up.”

 

She obeyed and he released her, stared at her for a good few seconds and then curled his fingers around the book she had been reading. He held it up and her eyes tore to it for a split second, and then back to him.

 

“Why where you reading-” he paused as he read the title of the book, “-The Art of Magic in the Bedroom?” He frowned. He wasn’t sure what was more worrying, that he even owned the book in the first place (and he could, honestly, not remember where he’d acquired it), or that she had been reading it.

 

The girl, predictably, did not respond other than to chew at her lip. “Do you even know what you were reading?” he prompted. She was still for several moments and then, slowly, shook her head.

 

“Can you even read?”

 

She shook her head again. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Slaves were not taught to read unless it was to the benefit of their master. It explained why she was surrounded in books, if she had only been skimming through them to stare at the pictures because the words where little better than foreign scribbling to her.

 

“Do you want to learn?” he asked. The look she gave him spoke volumes of her complete disbelief at what he was offering. But, very slowly, she nodded and her lips tugged into the smallest of hopeful, hesitant smiles.

 

“Then I will teach you. But,” he paused and her expression flickered instantly to resigned disappointment, “I cannot do so if you will refuse to speak.”

 

A long, silent moment stretched between them. He had almost given up on her when her lips parted and a single, whispered word fell from them.

 

“Please.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, kudos or bookmarked this, it's so lovely knowing that people are enjoying reading this! :)

To say the girl was eager to learn was a gross understatement, because, the next morning she found Fen’Harel in his study, with a pile of books in her arms, which she promptly heaped onto the ground into a small mountain. Then, she sat down, crossed her legs and gave him an expectant, impatient look. He’d barely woken up and she was already pestering him so it took him a few seconds of yawning and blinking before he could formulate a coherent response. When he’d managed to process the sight before him, he shook his head and gestured at the books she’d brought with her.

 

“You won’t be needing those just yet,” he started and her expression fell instantly to disappointment, and the vaguest hint of annoyance seething below the surface. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the look on her face, and it only made her scrunch up her features and scowl at him. “First,” he continued, “We start with letters.”

 

She was silent for several long moments until he raised an expectant eyebrow at her. Then, she pursed her lips, wrinkled her nose and finally muttered in a soft, hesitant voice, “Okay.”

 

The corner of his mouth tugged into the smallest of smiles. He would coax her voice out of her if he had to, in spite of whatever had made her suppress it in the first place, he would show her she was safe now. And he half suspected occasionally she refused to speak just to spite him, but if she wanted to fight a battle of stubbornness with him, she would lose. Fen’Harel flicked his wrist and let a small burst of magic form in the air, curling it into a floating, shimmering symbol that was the first letter in their alphabet. He told her how to pronounce it and she tried for several minutes to repeat it. Eventually she got it right, he congratulated her, and he twisted his magic into the next letter, and so on and so forth. When they finished the alphabet, she moved to grab one of the books before he’d even dissipated the magic sustaining the last shimmering symbol floating in the air.

 

“We’re not even close to moving onto those yet,” he said as her fingers curled around the spine of one leather bound tome. The look she gave him was so incredulous, so outrageous that he could only assume she thought he was doing it on purpose. The fact he found that terribly amusing and couldn’t stop a snort of laughter, only seemed to make her more suspicious. “Now we do simple sounds and syllables.”

 

She sighed so plaintively, so dramatically that he had to roll his eyes because it was obviously forced to make him feel bad. “Is that acceptable?” he asked.

 

 

All he received was silence and he would have none of it because he knew she was capable of speaking, he’d just heard her prattling letters at him for the last few hours. When he again raised an expectant eyebrow at her, she crossed her arms in a huff for several moments, before folding and grumpily whispering, “Yes.”

 

At her confirmation, he drew on his magic again to form short combinations of letters in the air that he taught her how to pronounce. In the following days they moved onto the books she so longed to devour, and he came to realise very quickly that she was a fast learner, not in the least bit because she was incredibly stubborn. If she couldn’t get something right, she refused to let him leave for hours until they perfected it and when he couldn’t teach her, she spent her days pouring over books, trying to teach herself. His house was a mess within days, both in part because she was littering it with paper everywhere she went, and because she was no longer cleaning it as she had done before. The former he was used to because he’d never exactly been an organized person, and latter he was grateful for, because it meant she was no longer acting as his servant. And it was that realisation that made him stop thinking of her as the girl Mythal had forced upon him, but rather as Lavellan, his student, his da’len.

 

\---

 

That evening Fen’Harel had been dragged into an insufferably long meeting with the other gods that stretched well into the night. By the time he returned home it was already the early hours of the next day and he was almost painfully tired, dragging his feet behind him as he walked through the corridors and towards his quarters. The house was dark and cold, except for the bright globe of light he’d created above his head to illuminate his path, and the dull glow of firelight from Lavellan’s room, he noted as he passed her open door. She couldn’t still have been up trying to read, or at least he hoped not or she’d be exhausted the next morning, but he peered into her room to make sure, and to scold her if she was still awake.

 

She wasn’t. She was fast asleep on the floor, curled up on her side with an open book splayed before her and several more scattered around her. He shook his head with a soft sigh. The fire in her room was slowly dying out and she’d wake up freezing later because she hadn’t bothered to crawl into her bed and sleep under the blankets. So he fixed her mistake, grabbed the blankets from her bed and placed them over her and then, crouched beside her, he paused. His gaze was drawn to the markings on her face, Mythal’s symbols, that he was so certain from the way she acted that they had been placed there to mark her as a slave, and not because she chose them with pride like Abelas did. It was no secret that some of Mythal’s priests and followers had slaves, even if she discouraged them from doing it. Now Fen’Harel wondered if that might have been who Lavellan had been bound to before she ended up in Mythal’s care.

 

His fingers pushed her copper hair out of her face, and he told himself he shouldn’t do it, but he had to know if just for a split second what might have been. So, against his better judgement, he let a small burst of magic flow into her and, for only a brief moment, he made her markings disappear and he gazed at what she would have looked like without them. But he stopped the spell almost as soon as he’d started it, and they came back, marring her face once more and he sighed as he pulled himself to his feet. Without those symbols etched into her skin like ugly scars, she could have been so beautiful.

 

\---

 

“Elmar’ran.”

 

“No. Try again.”

 

“Elfar’gan?” Her brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled in annoyance as she tried, and failed, to pronounce the word he was pointing at. They were sat against a wall, side by side, with a book propped open on his thigh. Lavellan leant over him, curled against him and broke into his personal space as she scrambled to devour the book they were reading. It was inappropriately close, but she hardly noticed in favour of her enthusiasm for learning, and he’d learnt to accept it several hours ago.

 

“Again, da’len.”

 

“Felgar’man,” she tried.

 

Fen’Harel could not stop the chuckle that rumbled at the back of his throat as he muttered, “Truly, if he knew how you butchered his name, our dear father of vengeance would be furious. Fortunate for you then that I would not tell him, much as I would relish the look on his features that it would garner.”

 

She glanced up at him with pursed lips but then she put the pieces together and confidently said, “Elgar’nan.”

 

“Excellent. You may use that as a synonym for bastard, if you so desire.” He couldn’t help it, every snide remark whispered in the shadows filled him with a dark, rebellious glee.

 

“Take it in vain?” she asked. For all their progress, for all the words he’d heard spill from her lips as they read, her talk outside of repeating phrases written on paper was still broken at best, and non-existent at worst. But it was a start, and a marked improvement of when her lips wouldn’t even budge open, period.

 

He laughed at her response and her eyes lit up at the sound like purple gemstones reflecting the sun. “Yes, you can take Elgar’nan’s name in vain, but not outside these walls. Wretched man wouldn’t know how much he deserves it.”

 

Her lips pulled into a grin and he didn’t even realise he was smiling at first, because the concept had become so unfamiliar to him that sometimes he forgot what it was like to be happy. Too long he’d spent focused on what was wrong with the world that he’d ignored the simple beauties that held on in the darkness, too steadfast or determined to die out when everything surrounding them was black. Lavellan’s attention focused once more on the book and she continued to pester him for hours until the sun went down and the only light was the warm glow from the braziers. She wouldn’t let him go until they’d finished it, and even then, her fingers fumbled for another but he stopped her with a hand gently pressed against her arm.

 

“I think that is more than enough for one day,” he said and he swore the look on her face could only be described as a pout. But she didn’t respond verbally so he arched an eyebrow at her and mused, softly, “You always pick the books on magic first. Why? There are more interesting things here to read than a scholar’s poorly interpreted description of spirits.”

 

He spoke of the first book they’d finished, a horrendously inaccurate volume that wasn’t even worth the paper it was printed on. The only reason he’d kept it was for irony’s sake, and because the idea of organisation, and with it, the disposal of useless possessions, was a foreign concept to him. For the first time that evening, though, she straightened and pulled away from him, her hands twisting in her lap and her mouth pressed into a thin line that wouldn’t budge to free any words.

 

“I know you are capable of speaking,” he continued as gently as he could. “If you do not wish to share it with me then that is fine, but do not pretend you have no voice when I have heard you butcher Elgar’nan’s name with it for the last hour.”

 

She was silent for several more moments. Then, she looked up at him, paused, looked back at her arms and slowly pulled her sleeves up to her elbows.

 

“He took it,” she whispered as she exposed the ugly brand scarring her forearm to him. “I want it back.”

 

He could be such a fool sometimes. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack you guys are so kind! Thank you so much! And... just to note... something kind of feels off about this chapter, I spent a while trying to figure it out but I couldn't so... bleh I hope it doesn't seem weird

Magic was inherent to the people, as much a part of them as breathing. It was their arrogance and pride and it permeated through every part of their society. But it was also a curse for some born into slavery. Most were forced into submission and so consumed with fear that they didn’t think to tap into their gifts. But some, especially those whose powers manifested strongly, were considered a liability. And these people had their magic suppressed by their masters so they couldn’t be a danger, their bodies branded to mark them and their lives dulled and dampened, like forever looking through opaque glass.

 

This was what had been done to Lavellan and she knew enough to realise that she wanted it back, she wanted to live and feel life in its full, not a pale reflection of it. It made Fen’Harel’s blood boil thinking of what had been done to her, for the injustice of it and what only made it worse was that he knew once he too had forced the same fate upon his own slaves. He tried to push her to tell him who had suppressed her magic, but she refused and, much as he was loathe to admit it, it was probably for the best. The beast seethed and lashed out against the knowledge of what had been done to her, and letting it loose on the one who’d bound her into such a dark, colourless world wouldn’t help either of them, and it wouldn’t undo her mauled connection to the Fade. So, instead, he became determined to free her from it, if he could, even if in part it was also atonement for himself.

 

Fen’Harel took his orb and he trawled through the land of spirits, stalking down knowledge and bartering for it, for any scrap or remnant that might help him restore her magic. Every night he searched and it left him incapable of getting any proper sleep, so that every morning when his eyes fluttered open he felt worse than the night before. After a week his exhaustion was starting to take its toll, and other people were noticing. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Elgar’nan anymore, and the other god was beginning to get suspicious. Andruil assumed, with a sneer on her features, that he was spending all his nights forcing himself upon Lavellan, because rumours that he was keeping a slave girl in his home spread like wildfire, and it could not have pleased the goddess more to think that he had fallen back into his past.

 

And Lavellan, herself, didn’t know what he was doing for her so when he fell asleep during one of their lessons, she would either become disheartened and slip away, or shake him until he woke up. Today he hadn’t even managed half an hour to teach her, and he’d seen the disappointment so painfully obvious on her features that evening. She seemed to be catching on that something was up, too, even if he hadn’t told her what he planned because he didn’t want to raise her hopes only to have to crush them if he failed to find a solution.

 

That night when he laid in his bed, his orb in his hands and in a light, restless sleep, a pair of hands pulled his precious possession from him. He didn’t really need the object to slip into the Fade in his dreams, but for what he had been trying to accomplish he needed the extra power. But as the thief took it from him that night, it was like someone had dumped a bucket of water on his head and he woke with a startle.

 

It took him several moments to get his bearings on the situation, but when he did he found Lavellan straddling his lower legs, the orb in her hands and a determined look on her features. He wasn’t sure what to be horrified at first, the fact she was sitting on his bed, staring at him while he was completely naked save for the blanket pulled up to his waist, or that she’d taken his orb. He addressed the first point by trying to pull the sheets up his chest, but it didn’t achieve much while she was sitting on them. The second point he approached by spluttering out, “What are you _doing_?”

 

“Helping,” was her simple reply, and she made to throw his orb away but he let out a strangled noise and lunged for it so fast that she hesitated. So, instead, she held it high up above her head, made him lean over her to reach for it and he did, albeit somewhat reluctantly. But she kept moving it out of his grasp, further and further behind her until she lost her balance and toppled over. He followed, pinned her to the bed, wrenched the orb from her hands and that was when he paused.

 

“You need sleep,” she chastised and narrowed her eyes at him. He wondered if she was completely oblivious to the fact he was inches from her and one of his hands was clasped around her wrist, or if she was used to it from her past so it simply didn’t faze her any more. He wasn’t entirely sure which option was worse.

 

“I am _trying_ to free you, da’len,” he protested and he had to force his fingers to pry themselves off her arm. He sat up and tried his best to stop the blankets from falling any further from where they were now sitting dangerously low on his hips. “You said you wanted it back.”

 

She pulled herself up, frowned at him and cocked her head. “The magic?”

 

“Yes.” He could practically see the hope and excitement that flashed through her eyes and he felt terrible to dash it by adding softly, “I am still searching for a way.”

 

She didn’t look as disappointed as he feared. Instead, she smiled gratefully for a second before her features twisted back to reprimanding and she announced, “Still need sleep.”  
  


Then she slipped out of his bedroom and left him staring at the door with a disbelieving look on his features, because he was fairly certain sleep was the last thing he’d be achieving now after that display. 

 

\---

 

It took him weeks more of searching because Lavellan shamed him into only spending half his nights looking, and because the information he wanted was so obscure and difficult to obtain he almost began to think it might not exist. But that morning, when Fen’Harel’s pale blue eyes fluttered open and he squinted into the glaring sunlight pouring into his room, he remembered his success from his dreams.

 

He trailed a hand along his jaw as he yawned for he was still tired, albeit not nearly as exhausted as he had been before which was a blessing. Then, he pushed himself from his bed and to his feet, his soft sheets falling from his body. He bathed and dressed, and then he went to search for Lavellan. She was, predictably, face-first in a book when he found her. She glanced up at him and frowned at what he could only imagine were the bags beneath his bloodshot eyes, but then her features became hopeful when she noticed the small smile on his lips.

 

“Come,” he beckoned and she left the book and followed him. He took her to his eluvian and brought her to an isolated place where he knew the lines between the waking world and that of spirits was thin. It was only coincidence that it bordered a quiet, tranquil river.

 

He sat beside it, crossing his legs, and without even the need to instruct her, she mirrored him. When he held his hands out, palms upward, he murmured, “I found a way to restore what was stolen from you.” Her eyes flickered with hope and anger, the latter presumably at the one who’d branded her. “If you still want it, of course.”

 

She was silent for several minutes before whispering, “Yes.”

 

He inclined his head towards his palms and it took only a moment for her to piece together what he meant and lay her hands on his. Her skin was calloused and scarred to his touch, from years of labouring, but he ignored it and closed his eyes, drew on his magic and let it pour into her through their joined hands. He sought her out, found her withered connection to the Fade and let his power flow into it. She resisted at first, her willpower clashing against his, and he realised as he pushed against her how strong her focus really was. Others, less kind, would have called her bull-headed, but to him it was a strength of mind.

 

Slowly, though, she stopped pushing him away and let him in and as his mind melded with hers, he healed the damage, restored her to what she once was and tried to ignore the flickers of memories that inevitably slipped across and played for him. He did not want to invade her privacy, but there were limits to how much he could ignore and he caught glimpses of a man in extravagant robes, his face hidden beneath a hood. It was accompanied with an intense, overwhelming feeling of loathing from Lavellan. And then she started to wrench back control, he felt her open and what had previously been a bright, but restrained spirit, now shone with the unyielding force of a sun.

 

Out of instinct, she threw him from her mind and he nearly toppled over as he was roughly yanked back to reality, but he steadied himself and gingerly opened his eyes. She was still for several moments, her eyes glowing and a shimmering static firing across her body. And then it dimmed and her gaze focused and adjusted to the living world.

 

It was difficult to describe how different she was, because in some ways she hadn’t changed at all. There was nothing about her that hadn’t been there before, it had only been suppressed and muted whereas now it was unbound and free. Lavellan smiled at him. And then her smile grew into a grin and he realised he was returning it and that, for the first time in years, the beast inside him was, for a moment, docile and completely quelled.

 

When she flung herself at him, crashed him to the ground and hugged him, he was so stunned that his arms came up and wrapped around her, oblivious to the rest of the world.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind support people have been giving this story! I would also like to mention that there is another lovely A!A on the kinkmeme filling their own version of this prompt! If anyone is interested on reading their take on it, it can be found here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=47152216#t47152216
> 
> Also also, based off early Bioware concept art for Solas I thought it would be interesting if he had hair when he was younger, so that's why I am writing him as not bald (well, not bald yet!)

“Lavellan,” Fen’Harel pleaded but she was either ignoring him purposefully or blinded by her joy at having her magic back that she didn’t hear him. “Da’len, please,” he begged and pried Lavellan off him. He pushed her back and she rocked onto her heels as he pulled himself off the ground.

 

“You don’t just restore someone’s entire world like that and then not expect them to react at all afterwards.” The words fell from her lips in such a fast flurry that he gaped at her for several long moments. She’d never said so much before unless she was reading.

 

“I see you have found your voice,” he pointed out in a low murmur as he narrowed his eyes at her. “And I now suspect I am going to spend the rest of eternity wishing I knew how to make you stop using it.”

 

“You don’t know what it’s like-” she started but he didn’t pay attention to a word falling from her lips because he was far too preoccupied with other matters.

 

“-spending your whole life as if you’re seeing the rest of the world through a dirty window-”

 

She really wouldn’t shut up. He realised, now, that there might have been more motivation behind her branding than her powerful magic, that it might have also, in the slightest, been done to her because her obstinate personality made her an atrocious slave. Not that it justified what had been done to her, but he had a terrible suspicion that if she hadn’t been suppressed, she would have been killed years ago for insubordination. The thought slipped from his mind, though, as he frowned at the little flickers of fire that were starting to burst over her hand. He suspected this would happen, if she’d been cut off from her magic for so long and to finally have it returned, but with no knowledge of how to control or use it.

 

“-and then someone finally shatters the glass and it’s like-”

 

“Lavellan,” he interrupted with more than a little urgency in his voice.

 

“What?” She frowned at him, but then a split second later her hand burst into flames and she yelped, waving it pointlessly to try and put out the flames as if she didn’t quite understand she was the one that was feeding them.

 

“That is what I was trying to avoid,” he muttered as he leant forward, grabbed her wrist and quenched the flames with a burst of his own magic. She swallowed thickly and then stared up at him, confused. “You are quite powerful, which I suspect is why you were branded in the first place. It also means that now you have your magic returned to you that you’re liable to accidentally reduce yourself to a pile of ashes because you don’t know how to control it.”

 

“So teach me then,” she replied as if the answer was obvious. He raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed.

 

“Are you always this ungrateful, or this a special occasion?” He didn’t mean for it to come across as snide as it did, but he’d spent weeks depriving himself of sleep for her that he at least expected a-

 

“Thank you,” she whispered and the smile on her lips told him it was genuine. He paused for a moment and then inclined his head in appreciation.

 

“You’re welcome,” he offered and slowly released her hand, and with it the magic he had been using to temporarily restrain hers. Instantly, the flames began flickering and sparking again at her fingertips. “But I will teach you. It wouldn’t do to have you burst into flames in the study. You’d burn all your precious books.”

 

She scoffed at him, but then her lips tugged into a grin and he heard her sweet, joyful laughter. He hadn’t been certain if unleashing her magic would have dragged up a personality in her that, while previously suppressed, was not one that he would like. But, he realised in the hours to come as he taught her to control her magic, the teasing, bright person with an iron willpower who had emerged was something he could become fond of. It had always been there, muted and dulled, but now it was free.

 

\---

 

He taught her the basics of how to not kill herself, and by the time she’d learnt how to at least hold back her magic and stop it from flaring out of control every two seconds, it was well into the afternoon. He was tired and waved a hand to cover his yawn as he told her that would be sufficient for now to stop her spontaneously bursting into flames. Later he’d teach her how to draw on her magic without it getting out of hand, and after that, he promised to eventually start teaching her how to actually use her magic. But for now, he told her, he desperately needed to sleep. So he lay down beside the river, made her promise, which she agreed to somewhat reluctantly, not to do anything stupid, and closed his eyes.

 

He must have slept several hours when a small drop of water landed on his cheek. It wasn’t enough to wake him, but it jolted his dreaming and made him wrinkle his nose. Then another droplet hit him, again and again until he slowly dragged an eye open to see what was dripping on him, because he was fairly certain it wasn’t rain. He was right because he found himself staring at a huge globe of water hovering above him, contained in a sphere of magic that, while strong, was incomplete and let small trickles of water escape and fall to the ground.

 

He had absolutely no doubt who had created the sphere as he opened his other eye and muttered, suspiciously, “Lavellan...”

 

He twisted to stare at her and in hindsight it wasn’t a good idea because catching her gaze distracted her and faltered her control over the globe of water hovering above him. The magic containing the fluid broke, even for only a second, and it fell on him, drenching him with cold water. He gasped, flung himself up into a sitting position and gaped down at his robes, which were now soaked. Then, he cast a furious, disapproving look at Lavellan who only squeaked and stared at him with a terribly faux innocent look. She couldn’t maintain it, not when he was dripping wet and looking at her so incredulously. She snickered loudly, so he did the only logical thing that came to his mind.

 

He called on his magic and used to it to create a burst of force that toppled her into the river. She yelped as the water engulfed her but, he decided, she wasn’t anywhere near wet enough to even the score of what she’d done to him. So he pulled water from the river into a globe twice the size of the one she’d created, and he dumped it on her head, laughing as she scowled angrily at him. When she raised her hand to cast another spell at him he deflected her magic with ease because for all her power, she wasn’t anywhere near as skilled as he was, at least not yet. It only made her more irritated and she waded through the water to where he sat beside the river chuckling, and then she paused before him.

 

Her features twisted to a dark, sultry expression and she gazed up at him with lidded, bordering on lustful, eyes. He paused, his amusement vanishing as she cupped his jaw with her hand and he shifted uncomfortably. He made to ask what exactly she was intending by leaning in so close that her lips were moving worryingly close to his. And then she capitalized on his confusion, grabbed him by the front of his sodden robes and yanked him into the river in one fluid movement.

 

When he surfaced, his thick, dark hair plastered to his face, he found her laughing and already wading away from him and the revenge she undoubtedly knew he’d try and get. And revenge he most certainly did want. They fought and teased with each other for hours in the water, but his magic was by far better honed and controlled than hers, so he always won, and it only ended when he had her pleading with him in between laughs to have pity and stop.

 

\---

 

“Here,” he started as he held her hand out towards the fireplace, “Focus on the wood and let just a _small_ burst of magic set it alight.”

 

Her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her powers and then she unleashed a rather not small flare that engulfed the wood, spluttered and lashed flames that could have seared their eyebrows had he not quickly dampened the fire with a flicker of his own magic. He quelled the flames until they were a safe, crackling fire and chided gently, “I said _small._ ”

 

“It’s difficult,” she protested and he rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle.

 

“Yet you had no trouble dumping water on me this afternoon.” He laid his robes out to dry before the fireplace and then sat back down, and reached to undo his hair. They’d changed into dry clothes since returning from the river and she now sat beside him, curled up in a blanket and warming her hands against the fire.

 

“Is that how you normally thank people who help you?” he continued teasingly as he threaded his fingers through his tangled mess of locks.

 

“I don’t know.” Her voice was a strange mixture of forced humour and bitterness. “I don’t have much experience with people being kind to me.”

 

He stared at her for several moments, silently cursing himself for being so stupid. For all the way she acted, it lulled him into a false sense of security and sometimes he forgot she’d once been someone’s slave, once been nothing more than a possession that didn’t deserve acknowledgement for its actions.

 

“Forgive me,” he whispered and she couldn’t have known it was for more than his insensitive comment. There was so much he needed forgiveness for, and he didn’t deserve it for half of it either.

 

Her gaze flickered to his, her brow creasing but then she shrugged and gazed at the brand that still marked her arms. “You freed me, that means more than you could ever understand. You could never imagine what it’s like to be able to feel again, to be able to laugh after spending so long in darkness.”

 

He understood more than she thought he did. Even if he hadn’t had his emotions forcibly suppressed, he’d still spent years seething and festering in a grey, lifeless world that he’d created and brought on himself. And he’d only just remembered how to laugh again after she’d brightened it for him.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You people are so kind, I can't even thank you enough for the amazing things you say ._.

Releasing Lavellan’s magic had, unfortunately, unintended side effects, namely that Fen’Harel’s home now no longer resembled an ill cared for dwelling, but rather more as if a hurricane had whipped through the halls and wrecked everything in sight. She was doing a spectacular job of breaking his tableware, because her most recent method of practising magic seemed to involve attempting to levitate bowls and plates in the air with a steady stream of force from her fingers. If it worked, the sight was quite spectacular. When it inevitably didn’t, it ended up with broken plates scattering the floor. He didn’t have the heart to try and discourage her from learning, because such a curious, interested soul as hers didn’t deserve to be snuffed out, but he’d appreciate it if she stopped destroying his possessions. So, that afternoon as he sat in a chair in his study, flipping through the pages of a book, and he heard the familiar sound of another bowl smashing into pieces on the ground, he had enough.

 

“Tell me, da’len,” he started in a lazy drawl, “Are you purposefully trying to break every possession in my home, or is it an unintended side effect of your learning?”

 

She gazed up at him from where she sat on the floor, surrounded by a small mountain of broken plates and bowls. It was only because he’d taught her how to shield herself that she wasn’t sporting cuts and grazes from the shattered ceramic. “You’re a god, aren’t you?” she retorted, her voice dripping with teasing and the slightest hint of bitterness. “I’m sure you can afford to buy more.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her and pressed his lips into a thin, calculating line. He’d wondered how much she really knew about him and more so what she thought. The perception the rest of the people had of him had always bothered him because it was rarely accurate and if she considered him the same as the others, the same as Andruil or Elgar’nan, he would correct that.

 

“How much do you know about me?” he asked, carefully.

 

She held his gaze, her brow furrowing as she replied. “I know you’re Fen’Harel, god of rebellion and that you’re part of the pantheon, that you sit on a noble throne and dictate the laws of our society with the others.”

 

So she did consider him the same as the others. His gaze softened to reflect his disappointment as he added, quietly, “Is that all?”

 

“No.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I know that you’re a pariah amongst your people, I know that you spend your days fighting and bickering with Elgar’nan and that you would rebel against the very foundations of our society if the others would let you.” She paused and gave him a pointed, meaningful look. “And I know that it is your name that every slave whispers a useless prayer to each night.”

 

“What do you-” he started, but he’d unwillingly unleashed a torrent of words from her and she wouldn’t stop, her features twisted into a strange, determined fervour.

 

“I know their prayers are falling on deaf ears because you can’t help them by running in pointless circles with the other gods. And I know the wolf inside you realises that, and that it lashes and claws for a way out because you don’t realise you’ve abandoned the people.”

 

He was standing, his hands balled into tight fists and his muscles flexing before he could stop himself and retorted, angrily, “I have not abandoned them; I am the only one who cares.”

 

“And fighting a losing battle with Elgar’nan helps them, does it?” she challenged and it made him furious to realise that she might have been right. How simply his question had turned into an argument, he should have realised she’d have more than a few opinions on him given what she once was. But perhaps he needed to hear it, even if he didn’t want to.

 

He was silent for several, long moments, his breaths heavy and deep as he tried to quell his anger. But she only held his gaze defiantly, challenged him to prove her wrong because she knew as well as he did that he couldn’t. Eventually he loosened his clenched fist, relaxed the tension that had built in his body and carefully asked, “Then what would you have me do?”

 

“Teach me to dream as you do,” she replied with a steady, determined gaze, “And I will show you the people who need you.”

 

He stared at her for a long minute, his eyes narrowed into thin slits as he considered her proposal. And then, gingerly, he agreed. He told her he would seek her out that night in the Fade, that he would show her how to twist and shape her dreams, if in return she would show him how to help the people he’d been trying, and failing, to aid for decades.

 

\---

 

At first it was simply the Fade, the same, green, hazy world of spirits that greeted them. It was not unpleasant, though neither was it enjoyable. It was simply was. Lavellan looked different in the Fade as well, more ethereal, otherworldly, and if he dared, he’d even say regal. The Fade distorted and twisted features to reflect what might have been hidden inside. Feelings, memories and emotion became all too painfully obvious in the realm of spirits if you didn’t know how to control it, but he did. He’d spent years trawling through this realm, and he hid his inner turmoil and feelings from her purposefully because he didn’t want for her to see the black mess that really lay in his heart.   

 

“You aren’t really here,” Fen’Harel told her as she continued to turn in circles, drinking the scene in with bright, curious eyes. “At the end of it all, it’s only a dream. But you can shape it, bend and leash it.”

 

She stopped spinning for a moment to gaze at him. “How?”

 

“It will take some practice,” he replied but he continued and told her how to mould her dreams using her imagination, how to create a scene out of the very magic of the Fade that could mirror the real world.

 

“I want to try.” She’d already started to pull magic at her fingertips when he reached out and, gently, stopped her for a moment.

 

“Wait, da’len. It is easier to begin with memories, something that is familiar and strong, something you could never forget. I will show you.”

 

She frowned, disheartened momentarily, but she obliged to watch him show her how it was done. With both his hands raised in the air, he drew on magic and distorted the scene until it flipped and twisted and they were no longer standing in what appeared like the Fade, but back in his home on the night he’d found her sleeping on the floor by the dying fireplace. The scene was a near perfect reflection of the reality, the dull glow from the fire, the sound of crackling embers. Everything expertly crafted and mirrored, with the exception of them being in it. Lavellan crouched where she had laid in the actual memory, ran her fingers over the floor he’d conjured and murmured cautiously, “I slept here.”

 

“Surrounded by a fortress of books, yes,” he replied and he took a step closer, stood beside her and clasped his hands behind his back.

 

“And then you put the blankets over me.” She frowned as she tried to piece together the rest of his memory. “So I wouldn’t get cold?”

 

“You had... chosen a particularly terrible place to fall asleep.” She didn’t know he was wilfully suppressing part of the dream, because he wouldn’t have her see the part where he’d gazed at her, touched her face and imagined for a moment what she’d look like without the markings. She wouldn’t have understood, he told himself as an excuse. Or worse yet, she would have and then he’d be forced to explain why he’d done it, and that answer wasn’t one even he was certain of.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you would have woken up cold? Is that not obvious in itself?”

 

She gazed at him with such a curious, interested look in her eyes that it made him uncomfortable, made him fidget and scratch the back of his neck as he dismissively added, “You would have gotten ill otherwise, and then I would have spent the next week caring for your fever addled body and wiping your snot ridden nose.”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him in such a manner that he suspected he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. “You’d look after me if I was sick, then?” Her features danced between teasing and what he could only describe as a strange, twisted satisfaction, neither of which he was particularly pleased about.

 

“Of course I-” he paused because he didn’t need to put up with the grin curling at her lips, or how uncomfortable she was making him. “Enough.” He dissolved the scene easily with a flick of his wrist. “Your turn.”

 

She didn’t look impressed that he’d ended their conversation so abruptly but he couldn’t feel bad when he was so certain that she’d been deliberately playing with him. But she got over it quickly and, with a determined, steadfast expression, she tried to twist and shape the scene in the same way he had. It was a wonky, unsteady transition and even when she formed the scene it was incomplete and imperfect. But she’d shaped it nonetheless, and Fen’Harel managed to piece together enough of the dream to work out that they were in what appeared to be the slave quarters of an estate. It was her memories from when she had been a slave. His mood fell the moment he realised it and his blood turned to ice because this wasn’t what he had intended, and he didn’t want her to bring this up because he knew it could only pain her to do so.

 

“Da’len, this is not-”

 

“No, wait,” she interrupted and slowly the shape of a hazy slave woman appeared from the Fade, sitting on the ground with a small child curled up against her. And she was... singing. The kind of song that was more a story than anything else. A lullaby, even.

 

“You need to know,” Lavellan continued as he put together the words of the woman’s song, words that sounded worryingly familiar, lyrics about freedom and rebellion, of a land where one day they might be their own masters. “This song... they sing it of you, every mother to her child born into slavery.” She glanced up at him, her brow creased and her teasing expression vanished to be replaced by a pained one. “They pray and they believe that you will free them.”

 

He couldn’t even think of anything to respond with, and when she realised he wasn’t going to answer her, Lavellan twisted the scene ever so slightly and a new woman appeared, stirring a pot on a stove.

 

“It’s your name she whispers,” she started and gestured at the slave, “Every time she puts a laxative in the soup when her master is having a grand dinner.”

 

Again she twisted the scene and he found himself staring at a starving, malnourished child and she told him, above all else, they needed food, water, the basics of survival when their masters denied it to them for poor behaviour. He hadn’t known, so caught up in his anger and his hatred of the idea of slavery that he missed seeing the important point of how he could help them. And then again, she twisted it and showed him how they needed healing and their wounds tended after they were tortured and beaten. She showed him the people who had been suppressed like she had, how they lived in dark, murky worlds like hers once was and that he could help them far better by freeing their magic than he ever could by arguing with their masters.

 

She showed him so many things that night, memory after memory even when it obviously pained her to relive them, because she told him he needed to understand the slave’s reality, so he could learn how to truly help them. And he realised, in that moment, that she needed to know his truths that he kept bottled up inside like dark, terrible secrets. She needed to understand why fighting for the liberation of all the people was as much a penance for him as it was a justice.

 

So, he fixed her with a steely expression, his jaw clenching at what he was dragging up, and he murmured, slowly, “There is something I must show you, Lavellan.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless Mass Effect reference because... reasons, lol
> 
> And again thank you so much to everyone supporting this!

It was not difficult for him to take control over her dream and shape it for he had years of practice and it came as naturally to him as breathing. He morphed and sculpted it until they were in his temple, one that once had been his, adorned with statues of himself and fine drapery, but was now abandoned and derelict. It was an old and vicious memory that he drew on, one that he had tried to suppress but never could forget. It was the root of his guilt and his lack of control over the wolf, and even now, reliving the memory made his insides twist and turn, his nails sharpen and dull repeatedly  as the rage tried to escape, feeding off the scene before him like a starving man at a banquet. But he pushed it back, restrained it because he had to show her without losing control. This was not a place he came to willingly, but he felt she deserved to see. After everything she’d showed him, she had the right to know what he’d once been so she could pass judgement on him herself.

 

“What is this?” Lavellan turned as she spoke, drinking in the entire scene before them as he sat on his throne, his chin resting in his palm. Before him knelt the ghostly figures of slaves in their dozens and the walls were lined with his barefaced priests, the ones who had served him so loyally before he had repulsed the idea of it.

 

“My shame,” he replied and he watched her face, tried to read her expression and he found that it danced between confusion, sadness, and pity. He’d expected disgust. He deserved disgust. Yet it didn’t even flicker across her features once, and that observation in itself disgraced him beyond measure.

 

“You kept slaves,” she pointed out as her eyes landed one by one on each figure that bowed before him on bended knee, each one of them fearful and scared, each one branded with the marks of overwork, punishment or forcibly dampened connections to the Fade. Their faces were adorned with tattoos that represented him, and every one of them he had personally placed on their skin.

 

“I did.” It was difficult for him to utter the words and admit it, even though it was plainly obvious to the both of them.

 

She turned to face him and he couldn’t determine the look on her face. It wasn’t quite disappointment, but neither was it understanding. The best he could describe it as was guarded. “What made you stop?”

 

“There was a woman,” he started and his voice faltered and choked as a mirage of her appeared beside them,  the beast lashing and seething inside him at the sight of her, “She was pregnant and she killed herself rather than let her child be born into slavery.”

 

“Was it yours?”

 

He shifted uncomfortably in his throne, his silk robes twisting beneath him as he tried to find the words to answer her question. “I don’t know. She...” He paused, because he wasn’t sure how to phrase what needed to be said without it sounding as bad as it did. Then he realised that he did the woman an injustice by shying from what had happened. “I took her to my bed frequently, but I was aware she also had a lover of her own amongst the slaves.”

 

“So it could have been yours?” Her eyes narrowed at him, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, and that made him uneasy.

 

“Yes.” He paused and when her face continued to be frustratingly unreadable to him, he snapped a little angrily, “Believe me I have spent decades torturing myself over what I did and what I caused, don’t think that I haven’t-”

 

“I wasn’t judging you,” she interrupted, but the raised eyebrow she gave him spoke volumes of her disapproval. Perhaps she realised how it seemed to him, because her features softened to almost pity. “You stopped, you changed, that means more than you give yourself credit for.”

 

“It is still my burden to bear,” he dismissed and her eyes flashed with annoyance.

 

“You insult the people you hurt by wallowing selfishly in your guilt.”

 

Her words cut deep, largely in part because they were true. He stared at her for several minutes, shocked, and then he looked away and whispered, defeated, “I know.”

 

“Then maybe you should stop dwelling on the past.”

 

“I am trying.” It was a lie, and she knew it just as much as he did because she raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, so he corrected, “I will try.”

 

“Good.”

 

And with that, he broke the memory around them, dissolved the scene and returned them to the Fade as it truly was, bizarre and foreign. Not long after, he found himself awake in his bed, a hand pressed to his forehead as he tried to consider what had happened. He had wanted to help, but up until that point he had only tried to do so by attacking the slave masters he saw and arguing with the other gods. And it had been in vain, it never achieved anything and it only made him more frustrated, made him lose more control over himself. Perhaps she was right and that wasn’t the way to approach it. Perhaps he could still help without losing himself to the beast. He would find a way, for the slaves who deserved it, for his penance and for her. He would do it for her because he could not bear to see such disappointment etched onto her face and directed at him again.

 

\---

 

In the months that came, Fen’Harel helped the slaves as best he could without being caught or seen. He ignored their masters, and instead assisted them individually. He freed them from their brands, restored their magic, and taught them how to hide and how to use it. He fed their starving children and gave them clothes to ward off the cold. Sylaise had knowledge of healing and herbs that she never shared for fear of losing her profits. Many years ago he’d stolen the knowledge of healing magic from her, and now he stole the use of herbs to make salves and poultices, and he taught it to the slaves so they could mend their wounds. Without intending to, he was building a movement of resistance whispered in the shadows, with his name at the forefront and centre. And each act of kindness quelled his guilt and calmed the beast, and each act of rebellion fanned the flames of his determination.

 

When the other gods met, he was as silent and indifferent as the twins, lounging in his chair and paying such little attention to what they argued about that half the time he didn’t even know the topic of their disagreement. The others were beginning to take notice of his apparent apathy, especially Andruil, and that day she must have been in a particularly despicable mood because she purposefully targeted him during a conversation.

 

“You don’t have any comment to make, wolf? No cry of horror at the annual hunt that I will personally oversee tomorrow?” Andruil adored her hunts where she would set loose her own slaves, and then track them through the forests and kill them. It was barbaric at best, and lacked words to describe it at worst. He’d been fighting against it for so long now he’d forgotten when he’d started opposing it. “Have you lost your pride? Or did you forget what it felt like to have someone as your possession, and only now remembered since you’ve had that slave girl living with you?”

 

“Neither,” he replied simply. Idiot woman didn’t know he’d personally sabotaged her traps and slipped a horrendous vomiting draught into the wine she would be using at her banquet that evening to celebrate the beginning of the hunt.

 

“Why do you even keep her?” Andruil continued, and he knew she was grasping at straws now if she was deliberately trying to provoke him over Lavellan. “You could do better; she isn’t half as pretty as the other slaves you could force into your bed.”

 

His lips curled into a snarl because, despite all his knowledge that she baited him on purpose, it still made him furious to hear her speak of Lavellan in such a way. “She is not my pleasure slave, let alone a slave at all.”

 

“Really?” Andruil sneered at him. She could have been a beautiful goddess if her features weren’t so perpetually pulled into a vicious, condescending expression. “I’ve seen the way you look at her in the marketplace when you think no one’s watching, I’ve seen the way you stare at her like you wish she would bare herself to you, how you ache to feel her skin and sink into her.”

 

His anger overcame him because each word was like a fire searing against his skin, an insult to everything he stood for, and, in the slightest, they also contained a grain of truth. He did stare at Lavellan for a second too long when he knew she wasn’t watching, it was difficult not to. She had the sort of blindingly bright spirit, the kind that whiplashed across his mind every time he was close and it was all he could do not to be drawn to her. But he suppressed the feeling because he couldn’t, he refused, to use her and he was terrified if she knew how he gazed at her that she would give herself to him not because she returned it, but because she felt he had to. And to hear Andruil taunt that he would take her against her will...

 

It snapped his resolve that afternoon, and he drew on his magic recklessly, binding it around the goddess’ throat and revelling in how it made her choke and splutter for breath. Her powers had always been weaker than the rest and she couldn’t even hope to fight against him. Perhaps it was the reason for her ferocity, to cover and hide the fact that there were slaves out there with stronger connections to the Fade than even she, a goddess, had.

 

“Fen’Harel,” Elgar’nan barked angrily as he verged on the edge of choking Andruil to death. Not that he would have really done it, but she could have done with the dose of humility that thinking he might kill her would garner. But, under the over father’s demand, Fen’Harel released the goddess and left her a spluttering, gasping mess on the floor.

 

Elgar’nan glowered at him but he shrugged dismissively because for all the other god’s horrendous attitudes on slavery and their people, the one thing Elgar’nan despised was pleasure slaves and perhaps that was Fen’Harel’s saving grace in that moment. Everyone surely knew under any other circumstances the consequences would have been more than an angry glare. Elgar’nan sighed after a few moments, shook his head and muttered, frustrated, “We are done here,” and disbanded the meeting.

 

\---

 

Fen’Harel was still furious when he returned home; her words had dug under his skin and bothered him so much it would take far more to budge his anger than a short trip through the eluvian. He stalked furiously through his home, and he made such a commotion that it was, predictably, only a matter of time before Lavellan found him. She stared at him, wide-eyed and confused as he seethed but despite his foul attitude, she only replied with concern.

 

“What happened?”

 

“It is...” he paused and had to force himself to utter the next word, because it stubbornly refused to fall from his lips, “Nothing.”

 

“For nothing it seems to have you terribly worked up,” she pointed out with the arch of a single, curved eyebrow.

 

He closed his eyes and exhaled a deep, calming breath before he let his pale blue eyes flicker to hers. “I will feel better once we are done ruining that banshee’s hunt.”

 

It was what they had been planning all month. Between ruining Andruil’s traps, poisoning her food and a far many other inconspicuous sabotages, fun would be the last thing the goddess would be engaging in tomorrow.

 

“Ahh. Andruil,” Lavellan mused with an irritating clarity.

 

“Do not ahh me,” he grumbled. “You sound like a rage demon.”

 

He shouldn’t have said it, because her lips pulled into a small, satisfied grin as she murmured again, purposefully, “Ahh.”

 

He shook his head and rolled his eyes at her, unimpressed. “You can be so insufferably infuriating sometimes.”

 

“And you can be insufferably grumpy sometimes,” she countered and he scoffed because he wasn’t grumpy he was simply... He frowned as he realised that he was actually a fairly grumpy person. Lavellan’s features softened, though, and she asked gently, “What did Andruil do?”

 

“It is not important anymore,” he deflected because he wasn’t about to share that the source of his fury was that he’d been defending her honour, “And I would rather forget.”

 

She shrugged and she, blissfully, distracted his thoughts by gesturing down the corridor and saying, “Come, I have some more ideas to ruin Andruil’s hunt tomorrow that I would show you.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance for the angst... but also thank each one of you for your amazing support <3

Andruil’s hunt went off atrociously. Her priests were violently ill, her traps failed and when her slaves were let loose, Fen’Harel and Lavellan trawled the woods to find them, and free them. Most of them were too fearful to give their thanks, but he hadn’t expected any different. They must have infuriated Andruil beyond measure at her complete failure, because after several hours the goddess herself began stomping through the woods, tearing down everything in her path, even her own followers if they got in her way. Fen’Harel avoided her with ease, because in her furious rage she was obvious from miles away, every shred of her that had been a perfect, calculated hunter was lost in her fury.

 

The sound of twigs snapping drew his attention then, and he glanced around to find a desperate, terrified slave running towards him where he stood partially concealed behind a tree. He stepped out and tried as carefully as he could to stop the man in his path without scaring him to death, but didn’t manage it very well.

 

“Calm down,” Fen’Harel hissed urgently but the slave was too horrified and threw himself desperately to the floor, begging for his life. Fen’Harel sighed, crouched down beside him and softly whispered, “Do you want your freedom?”

 

Several moments passed, but then, ever so slowly, the slave glanced up at him, confusion and hesitation etched into his features. He was lucky that he had not been branded, although it hardly would have spared the man from other abuses at Andruil’s hand, the way he acted was more than enough proof of it.

 

“I can give it to you,” Fen’Harel added gently and, after a long pause, he received the briefest, most fleeting of a nod from the slave. He reached out, cupped the man’s face in his hands and allowed magic to flow from his fingers and into his skin. He erased the markings on his face that would only have seen him captured and enslaved again, and when he was finished, Fen’Harel stood back and urged the man to leave. Barefaced, he could have a chance at being free from his previous life.

 

It was then, as the now freed man scurried away, that Fen’Harel heard the faintest, fearful gasp of a voice he knew all too well. One that had taken so long to coax out, but that now graced his ears every day with her sweet, lilting speech. He dashed through the forests haphazardly, chasing after Lavellan and cursing himself that they ever became separated. She’d insisted, said they could cover more ground, but now it was her that was being caught and he knew it could only be by Andruil. He’d wring the goddess’ throat himself if she laid even a finger on her. When he found them, Lavellan was backed up against a tree, her features twisted in fear and horror as the goddess leered down at her, an arrow poised at her heart.

 

“Worthless whore,” Andruil hissed as her eyes trailed over every curve of Lavellan’s slave markings, sneering at each intricate line and detail. He’d thought to offer to remove them for her, but he’d never found the time while he’d been helping the other slaves, although it hardly mattered in that moment. The goddess laughed, her muscles flexing as she held her bow taught and ready and she gazed at the tell-tale scars gracing Lavellan’s arms. “Can’t even fight back because you’re branded, can you?”

 

And then she released the arrow and sent it flying at Lavellan’s heart. Fen’Harel yelled, his presence made painfully obvious and he grasped desperately for his magic to shield her but he wasn’t fast enough. So he watched, second by second, in horror as the tip of the arrow flew towards her. But it stopped, bounced against Lavellan’s own barely visible barrier and fell, useless, to the ground. And Fen’Harel realised, in that moment, as Andruil’s features twisted from a sneer to confusion, that having Lavellan breathing and alive before him was only marginally better than if the arrow had flown straight and true. He’d begged Lavellan never to use her magic in public unless she was desperate, that if the others ever found out how he’d released her from the brand...

 

“What?” Andruil hissed and her eyes flickered to her bow and then, finally, to Fen’Harel and it was then that he saw recognition dawn on her angry features. Her lips pulled into an unnervingly pleased grin and she growled, almost maniacally, “I will tear the heart out of you, wolf.”

 

And, in a flash of smoke, she had slipped away into the shadows and left Fen’Harel’s stomach sinking with dread and Lavellan staring at him, horrified and apologetic, because she knew just as well as he did that this could not well.

 

\---

 

Elgar’nan was beyond furious when he returned to the meeting hall. The other god’s had not even bothered to take their seats, so curious and gossiping over the rumours that Fen’Harel had found a way to reverse the slave’s magic suppression that they huddled in a corner, whispering to one another. Even the twins were unusually involved in the conversation, which spoke volumes of what he had done. As Fen’Harel entered the room, he found Andruil sneering at him, her features so grotesquely twisted into satisfaction he wondered if there ever had been a shred of her that could have been considered beautiful. Mythal regarded him with a quiet, careful disappointment, and the moment he made himself visible, Elgar’nan very nearly jumped down his throat. The over father’s anger was so pervasive, so obvious that his fists flared with uncontrolled magic and when he spoke, his voice was little more than a deep, furious hiss.

 

“How many?”

 

“I will need more clarification than that,” Fen’Harel drawled and crossed his arms over his chest. His mind screamed at him to not taunt and play with Elgar’nan now, of all times, but he couldn’t help it, it had slipped from his lips before he could stop himself.

 

“How many suppressed slaves have you restored?” He didn’t get the chance to reply because Elgar’nan was continuing his blinded, furious speech. “Do not think that I am foolish enough not to realise that, once you had figured out how, you would not restore the magic of more than just your pet slave!”

 

Fen’Harel’s lips pulled into a snarl, his features twisting as his anger welled up inside him and the beast lashed against his will. “She is not my-”

 

“How many?” Elgar’nan repeated with a yell.

 

When Fen’Harel fixed him with a cold, vicious glare, his lips unmoving and refusing to divulge the information the other god demanded, Elgar’nan snarled furiously. Then, he gestured to Andruil, and he muttered the words not even Fen’Harel thought he could have been capable of.

 

“Purge the slaves of the suppressed, kill every one of them with the brand that you find.”

 

“Elgar’nan, you can’t-” Mythal started and the absolute shock in her voice was plainly evident.

  
“Yes, I can,” Elgar’nan interrupted, and he pointed angrily at Fen’Harel who was so stunned, so disbelieving that he couldn’t maintain his sneer and simply stared, dumbfounded at the other god. “Somebody has to fix this fool’s mistake.”

 

Fen’Harel couldn’t even move, far less comprehend what was happening as the others retreated from the room. He’d known wilfully restoring the magic of the suppressed slaves would have been dangerous, that it would have infuriated Elgar’nan beyond measure if he ever found out. The entire reason for dampening the magic of powerful slaves to begin with was to stop them being a liability, so they would cease to be dangerous to their masters and to quell their hopes of rebelling. But he hadn’t thought Elgar’nan would do this. It should have been him that was punished, not the slaves and yet... He was such a fool.

 

It was then that his gaze slowly landed on his throne and found what was lying there. Draped across the seat, with the arrows of Andruil’s handiwork piercing its hide in multiple places, lay the corpse of a single wolf, it’s pristine white fur marred with dried scarlet blood. The creature had been mutilated, it’s chest cut open and mangled. And on the floor, Fen’Harel found the creature’s stabbed, lacerated heart.

 

\---

 

The wolf’s fur was soft and delicate beneath his fingers as he knelt beside it and pressed a hand against its back. Once he might have been a proud animal, the leader of his pack until he was meaninglessly shot down to sate Andruil’s rage. A pointless waste of life, just as every scream and cry that graced Fen’Harel’s ears that night. Every branded slave, whether he’d released them or not, was being cut down as a precaution, burnt and killed because of his mistakes. The hill he stood on shadowed one of their largest cities and he heard everything. He could have left, but he needed to hear so their deaths wouldn’t be meaningless, so that he would remember.

 

Gently, he allowed magic to flow into the wolf through his palm and he watched, silently, as the beast was enveloped in a faint, warm glittering light and returned to the earth. It was another spell that he had stolen, this time from Falon’din. All that remained were the bones, everything else had been returned, both to the waking world and beyond.

 

It was then that Fen’Harel stood and walked to the edge of the hill. He clasped his hands behind his back and it was there, rigid and unmoving, that he watched the fires blazing and the slaughter of the slaves. Hours could have passed and he wouldn’t have noticed, his pale blue eyes wouldn’t have faltered in their vigil. It took a cautious, gentle hand taking his into its own to falter his concentration. He let Lavellan link her fingers with his, his hand falling to his side as she held it and, ever so softly, gave him a reassuring squeeze.

 

“I shouldn’t have encouraged you,” she whispered after several moments. “I’m sorry.”

 

He gazed down at her, his eyes wide with disbelief and he shook his head as he spoke. “This is as much your fault as it is mine. As much ours as it is theirs.”

 

She was silent for a long moment and he watched as her brow furrowed. Even with the knowledge of what they were razing, the glow of the lit fires reflected off her eyes and made them dance in the dark of the night. It shouldn’t have been beautiful in that moment, not with the cost that the beauty had brought with it. And yet it was, just like so many things about her. She should have been disgusted when she learnt the truth about him, and yet she hadn’t. He didn’t deserve it.

 

“What now?” she eventually asked, and he felt her fingers glide over the back of his hand in a timid, but pointed, caress.

 

“Now...” he started softly before he paused for a moment to consider. “Now I do not return to the pantheon’s petty games and rules. Now I disavow myself of them and take matters into my own hands.”

 

“You’d separate yourself from the other gods?” She sounded surprised, but not disappointed.

 

“Well, except perhaps Mythal,” he added with a faint, dry chuckle, but there was no humour in it. He turned to gaze at her properly, to give her a pointed, meaningful look because he wouldn’t drag her into his madness. “I cannot ask you to stay by me in this.”

 

“But I will.”

 

“Lavellan,” he pleaded because for all the times for her to be insufferably steadfast...

 

“Do you think it is safer for me on my own, now that they know you restored my magic?” She shook her head with a small, ironic smile.

 

“And you think it would be safe living with an exile, a traitor?”

 

“I think it is safer than the alternative,” she retorted.

 

He frowned at her and pressed his lips into a thin line. Sometimes he truly hated her stubbornness. Even more so when she was right. He was quiet for several more long moments before he, reluctantly, muttered, “Fine.”

 

She smiled gently and then her hand slipped from his, and he realised he missed the feel of her warm fingers pressing against his more than he felt comfortable admitting. Then she reached in her pocket and pulled out the jawbone of the wolf Andruil had killed and pressed it into his hands. His brow knitted together and he gazed at her, confusion written across his features as she explained.

 

“Take it. Keep it as a reminder.”

 

He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers idly tracing over the bone and edges. Perhaps he would hold onto it, for the ones who had died that night, and to remind himself of the consequences of his actions.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There probably won't be an update tomorrow because... Christmas... So I would just like to wish everyone reading this a very happy holidays now! And thank you all again for being so amazingly supportive <3

In the weeks and months that came he separated himself completely from the other gods and kept the jawbone as a necklace to remind him of his failures. He purposefully tracked down slaves and freed them, blatantly insulted and worked against everything the other god’s stood for. He isolated himself and Lavellan, his home only accessible by his eluvian. Fen’Harel tried to placate the beast by focusing on only freeing the slaves and resisting from tearing the throats from their masters. But sometimes it was not possible and, ever so slowly, his control tumbled further and further downhill until all the progress he had made with Lavellan at his side vanished. He was managing to keep it suppressed, barely, for the time being, and she helped as best she could.

 

And then, that morning, his eluvian glowed with the faint shimmer of someone trying to enter from the other side. He had personally ensured that it was locked from the outside to stop intruders freely entering his home. Curious, he approached and he cautiously ran his hand over the mirror to open it. His mood fell the moment he saw Andruil stepping through and he folded his arms over his chest, stared her down with such a volatile expression on his face that the other goddess pouted at him.

 

“Such a hostile reception,” she drawled as she tore her gaze around his home, her nose wrinkling at his mess.

 

“Andruil,” he muttered carefully, “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

 

“Why, I am only here to wonder if you had managed to kill yourself yet.” There couldn’t even have been an ounce of truth in her voice as she pushed past him and stalked, confidently, through his home. “After you cut yourself off from us, the others have been _most_ worried.”

 

“Spare me your concern,” Fen’Harel retorted as he followed her. She made her way into his private quarters and it was then that she paused to face him, staring at him with a sneer pulling at her lips. She reached out, let her fingers trail over his orb that sat on his bed and he hissed, grabbed her wrist and wrenched it away in a split second as her hand had briefly begun to glow.

 

“What do you want?” he repeated as he, almost violently, dropped her hand.

 

“I am simply here to ensure that you haven’t lost yourself completely to the beast,” she replied and even as she said it, the hatred and cruelty that flashed in her eyes told him there was no real concern in her voice. “I imagine it must be difficult,” she continued, “Watching all those slaves die, knowing that it was your fault.”

 

She paused when she heard the deep growl that rumbled in the back of his throat. Her words cut him and seared against his control, a control that he was barely managing to maintain at the best of times. He caved to the beast. His teeth grew into fangs, his nails sharpened into claws and he crumbled to his knees as he cradled his head in his hands and let a low, bestial noise escape his lips. He was so blinded by his rage, so succumbed to the wolf that when Andruil crouched before him and grabbed a handful of his thick, dark hair and wrenched his head back, it staggered him and interrupted his transformation.

 

“You’re nothing more than an animal,” she snarled and he scrambled for his control, reined the beast in with everything he had until he was a shaking, trembling mess on the ground. It was suppressed once more, bound to his will, but as he knelt, his sweat sticking his robes against his skin, it did not feel like a victory.

 

“Get out of my home,” he managed, brokenly after several moments.

 

Andruil fixed him with a look of faux hurt and his eyes flashed with anger at how her fingers were still intertwined in his hair, pulling at it so hard and roughly it was becoming painful. “Why?” she purred. “Am I interrupting your precious time with your slave?”

 

“Why should that even matter to you?” It was little more than a gasp as he said it, but her grasp slipped from his locks and he moved his head to stare at her. He couldn’t even begin to describe the look that was painted across her features. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen grace Andruil before, not quite hatred but neither the opposite. The more he gazed at her, the more he began to realise that it was jealousy.

 

“Because you never noticed,” she hissed, and before he could even think to respond, she’d fisted a hand in the front of his robes, pulled him towards her and pressed a rough, angry kiss to his lips. He startled, caught so completely off-guard that he didn’t even think to stop her as she forced his mouth open, her actions verging on possessive. And then, horrified, he grabbed her by her shoulders and wrenched her away from him.

 

He stared at her, shocked, as he held her at arm’s length, but he only received an angry scowl in return. And yet beneath it, for the first time, he saw the vulnerability that Andruil had tried so desperately to hide, the emotions that she buried and hoped no one would ever find. And he pitied her in that moment, even as she pulled herself to her feet and muttered, bitterly, “I will show myself out.”

 

\---

 

Andruil’s actions left him beyond confused and consumed and dominated every of Fen’Harel’s waking thoughts. He spent his upcoming nights searching her memories in the Fade, to try and understand what had happened and why. It was a blatant invasion of her privacy to do so, and he should have felt wrong doing it, but he needed to know, and if he hid himself she never would find out. The scenes he saw in her memories told of the decades and centuries ago when he’d kept slaves, when their opinions hadn’t been as divergent as they were now. He saw how arrogant he had been, how he’d dismissed her and how blatantly he’d never noticed her interest even when through her eyes it was painfully obvious. He’d been so choked up in his own pride he hadn’t had the scope to contemplate anything other than himself at the time. And he wondered, now, if he was not at least partially to blame for the bitter, ruthless personality that she now had.

 

That night Fen’Harel replayed his own memories of a time he’d spent in the meeting hall with the other god’s years ago. He sat on his throne and watched, with a frown creasing his forehead how he’d completely disregarded Andruil and cut her down, how he’d been so consumed with himself that he’d considered her beneath him, not even worthy of his time. He might have felt awful for what he’d done if recent events had not transpired. But it continued to nag at him, and eventually he reached out for an old, precious friend who hadn’t graced his dreams in months. Even as she appeared, the spirit smiled at him and he wondered why he hadn’t sought her out earlier. She never failed to brighten his darkest dreams and give him guidance.

 

“My rebel wolf,” the spirit started as she appeared in her ghostly, shining form and, slowly, drank in the scene. “It has been some time.”

 

“It has, forgive me.”

 

“You have been preoccupied,” she noted and then her gaze landed on the memory of Andruil nearby and she narrowed her eyes as she put the pieces together. “You think it is your fault that she is the way she is because you did not notice her affection?”

 

He nodded slowly and rested his chin in his palm as he watched the memory continue to play, saw how fragile and vulnerable the goddess had once been, how insecure and unsure of herself she had felt. It was such a stark contrast to the Andruil he knew these days that she seemed, perhaps even was, an entirely different person.

 

“It would not have made a difference,” the spirit assured him with a gentle, soothing look. “Even if you had known, you wouldn’t have returned it and she would have been bitter and spurned all the same.”

 

“You...” Fen’Harel started, but he paused to sigh for a moment, because it was in her very essence to always be right, to always show guidance and knowledge where he was lacking. And while it didn’t erase his guilt entirely over the goddess, it quelled it somewhat. “You are correct.”

 

The spirit’s features pulled into a smile and it warmed him to see it. How he had missed her council and her wisdom, it had been too long. But then he felt another pressing on the edges of the dream and the spirit paused, her eyes flickering and landing on the intruder as, slowly, Lavellan appeared. She hesitated, realising that she was interrupting and parted her lips to apologise but the spirit interrupted her kindly.

 

“You are not intruding,” the spirit told her as Fen’Harel easily dissolved the memory of Andruil and gazed at Lavellan curiously. It was selfish of him, but in her presence his guilt over the goddess faded and dulled until, in that moment, it didn’t even bother him. “He enjoys your company.”

 

And then, as quickly as she had come, the spirit disappeared and he was alone with his da’len. Her features pulled into a mixture of embarrassment and guilt as she approached Fen’Harel, and she whispered, cautiously, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

 

“She is a spirit of wisdom,” Fen’Harel interrupted gently. “If she left, then she did so because she knew it was the correct thing to do.”

 

A long moment of silence passed between them, and it verged on awkward as Lavellan twisted her fingers and stared at them. He watched her from his throne, curious, and he realised, perhaps for the first time, that she was nervous. “I didn’t mean to impose,” Lavellan continued quietly, “But you have been... distant.”

 

“Then I apologise.” He sighed because he realised then how he’d been unintentionally ignoring her for days in favour of being obsessed with Andruil’s actions. He tried to give her a reassuring smile as her gaze flickered up to him. “My dreams have been troubled. You are, in truth, a welcome distraction.”

 

“What do you dream of?” she asked and in a split second her confidence returned and she was standing beside him as he looked up at her, her fingers trailing up the arm of his throne.

 

“Recently? Unpleasant memories, mostly,” he replied but then his lips pulled into a rueful smile because she didn’t know that when he hadn’t been trawling through Andruil’s memories, he dreamt of her more than a few times. “But sometimes wishful thinking.”

 

She’d become his solace when his dreams turned to nightmares, the memories of her nurturing and pulling him through his darkest nights when the beast hissed and fought for control.

 

“Such as?”

 

His smile turned into a thin, roguish line and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Such as private things, da’len.”

 

She held his gaze steadily and silence stretched between them for minutes, neither of them moving as he refused to divulge that it was her that graced his thoughts consistently, and she tried to read him and find answers where he refused to lend her any.

 

He found her attractive, he’d tried to deny that but he couldn’t any more. But to allow himself to be interested in her wasn’t something he was certain he could commit to. As much as she didn’t act like it now, she still had been a slave, and part of him couldn’t shake that if he let his simmering affection get the better of him, that she might revert and give herself to him purely because it was what he wanted, and not mutual feeling. It didn’t help that he found her intentions insufferably difficult to determine and he could never quite be certain if her teasing and jokes were just that, or a cover for something more.

 

And then, she distracted him by the feeling of her fingers sliding down the chair and onto the back of his hand. It caught him off guard, her skin brushing against his and it jolted his control over the dream, crashing it with his musings about her that he tried so hard not to share. Memories of her flashed through the scene out of his control. How he’d watched her laugh, the sidelong glances he stole when she hadn’t been watching, the way he’d felt and remembered every time she’d touched him, everything that made his cautious affection blatantly obvious was played before their eyes. Before _her_ eyes. By the time he wrenched control over the dream back again, she had already seen too much. Even two seconds would have been too much.  

 

She cocked her head at him, her violet eyes bright and curious and he held her gaze steadily, frowning at her because he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going. He’d assumed that she’d either run from him, or make some deflective but humorous comment to quell the awkwardness that should have been rampaging between them.

 

But she did neither. Instead, she whispered low in the back of her throat, “You dream of me.”

 

It wasn’t a question, and before he even began to consider a reply, she was leaning forward, her hands cupping his face, tilting him up towards her and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. She pulled back for a split second, gazed into his eyes, perhaps for invitation and if that was what she wanted then he readily gave it to her. And then she was pushing her lips to his again, angling her head and running her tongue over his lips, begging him to open up to her. He obliged, his arms slipping around her waist and he guided her forward to straddle him on his throne as she curled her fingers into his dark hair.

 

When they parted she pulled back the slightest to gaze down at him, her lips tugged into a smile and she murmured, breathlessly, “I told myself for months that there had to be something your mouth could do other than spit depressing, snarky comments.”

 

“You would be shocked at what it can do,” he replied and he swore he could see the desire flashing through her eyes. She reached for the clasp on his silk robes eagerly, curled her fingers around it and made to undo them, but he caught her hand and stopped her, adding gently, “Not here, and... not yet.”

 

She frowned, parted her lips to reply but he caught them in another quick, fleeting kiss before collapsing the dream around them. And then he was lying awake in his bed, alone, his fingers trailing over his lips and desperately trying to commit to memory how hers had felt against his, so he could relive it time and time again when he dreamt.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if the last scene in this chapter is horrendously cliche...
> 
> And thank you, again a million times to everyone who has been so amazingly supportive of this, really you guys are so awesome I can't thank you enough <3

It didn’t take Lavellan long to find him the next morning, not that he would have expected anything less given what had transpired in their dreams. He’d barely woken and dressed when she forced her way into his quarters, but he didn’t flinch and he refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. It was petty and immature, but Fen’Harel goaded her, faced his bookcase and pretended, casually, to search for a tome.

 

“Bursting into my room so early in the morning, are you?” he teased and had he been staring at her, he swore she would have that furious, irritated look on her features that he found far more endearing than he did intimidating. “I could have been dressing for all you knew.” He tutted, scolding her playfully. “Did you not sleep well?”

 

“You good for nothing tease,” she hissed as her hand clasped tightly around his arm. She spun him around, slammed him into the bookcase so hard it sent several tomes crashing to the floor, fisted her hands in his robes and pushed a rough kiss to his lips. In truth, he hadn’t quite expected such a reaction from her, although he was hardly one to complain.

 

He allowed his hand to reach up and cup her jaw, and when they parted he idly ran his thumb over her cheek as he gazed at her softly, longingly. She pressed her forehead to his own, the tip of her nose rubbing against his as he sighed, ever so gently, and pushed her away. Her features pulled into a frown, confusion and the smallest hint of hurt dancing over her features because she couldn’t understand why he acted as if he didn’t want her.

 

And he did want her, he wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her warm skin beneath his fingers again, he wanted to bury into her hair and drink deep her scent and he wanted that she would never leave. All the things he now ached for provoked by a single kiss that hadn’t even technically been real. It shamed him that for decades he had managed on his own, never thought he needed another, and she’d broken him so completely, so easily.

 

“This... may not be the best idea,” he offered softly because even as much as he longed for her, he couldn’t bear to make her a target, and she would become one because he now had many, many enemies. “The others, they will talk.”

 

“Then let them,” was her, predictably, obstinate reply.

 

“They may try and use you to get at me,” he added but still she would not have any of it.

 

“They can try.”

 

He sighed, searched her face for even the slightest hope that he might be able to dissuade her. All he found was the look of a woman who had already decided what she wanted, and knew, no matter how much it took, that she would have it. He couldn’t push her away, not with that expression on her features, so, instead, he whispered, defeated, “Lavellan, your stubbornness will be the death of me.”

 

He pulled her into his embrace, pressed his lips to hers and kissed her as she curled her arms around his neck and pushed against him. His mind told him it was a terrible idea, that it could not end well for either of them, but his heart told him differently, and the only thing he could do was fold against her, abandon his reason and bend to his emotions and promise that, whatever happened, he would protect her with everything he had. 

 

\---

 

Her fingers tangled in Fen’Harel’s hair, twisted around his thick dreadlocks and combed through his free tresses that intertwined between them. Her touch trailed over the left side of his head, where his hair was cut shear against his skin, her nails raking ever so gently against him and then, once more, lost themselves in the rest of his hair. So long it had gotten that he had to tie it back when she wasn’t playing with it. It was surprisingly peaceful to lay with his head in Lavellan’s lap in his study as she absentmindedly caressed him and he lazily flipped through the pages of a tome. After several moments, he felt her hands move to cup his face and she leant over him and kissed him, gently. Her copper hair, so much softer and better cared for than his, brushed against his neck.

 

He reached up for her, his fingers trailing along the side of her face as they parted and he gazed at her with what he knew could only be a hopelessly lovesick expression. Perhaps it should have embarrassed him, the way he’d bent so completely and tragically to her the moment her lips had graced his in the Fade. He really was hopeless.

 

“How are you even interested in me?” he mused.

 

“Well, it’s not your cheery and positive personality, that’s for certain,” she replied. He scowled at her so grumpily, so entirely unimpressed that she laughed and pushed a quick kiss to his forehead.

 

“I was not jesting,” he continued as he pushed aside the tome he had already abandoned. “How could you not view me, at best, as your hahren and, at worst, one who had been a slave master as worse as the rest?”

 

“You are both, and more,” she replied gently.

 

“So you do see me as your teacher, then? Is it a fantasy of yours to seduce your hahren, or is it merely a coincidence?”

 

Her features drew into an unimpressed look that verged on a glower. “You are deliberately trying to bait me now.”

 

“I would do no such thing; I am simply trying to judge your intent.” Try as hard as he might he couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips. She scoffed at him and pushed him roughly out of her lap.

 

“And I could say the same about you,” she continued as she pushed herself onto her feet. “You didn’t exactly attempt to discourage your _da’len_ in the Fade.”

 

She emphasized the word pointedly and she moved to leave but he stood and scrambled after her, grabbed her hand and she stilled and cast a curious, but haughty, look over her shoulder.

 

“Lavellan,” he whispered. Her lips tugged into a smile and she turned to face him properly. Her finger trailed up his chest until they reached his neck and, then, she caught his chin in her grasp and angled him down towards her as she stepped closer. “You stopped being a student to me months ago.”

 

“The same as how you stopped being the insufferable man I was given to and became the one I came to admire after I saw how you changed to free and fight for the slaves.”

 

“I assure you that seducing you was not my intent when I chose to stand up against their oppression, although I will admit that it has become an enjoyable side benefit of my actions.” He very near purred the sentence as he said it and she grinned at him so widely he couldn’t stop his own lips tugging to do the same.

 

Her clasp around his chin tightened ever so gently, and she pulled him down into a kiss, her free hand curling around his neck as he slipped his arms around her and drew her closer. When they parted, she pressed her forehead to his, gazed into his eyes and he sighed, ever so gently, in content.

 

“By the way,” she murmured and he frowned as he noted the mischief that flashed in her eyes, “That book you own, The Art of Magic in the Bedroom...” She trailed her sentence off as she said it and he cursed at the way his cheeks flushed with heat.

 

“I can assure you I have no clue where I acquired it, nor can I recall reading it for at least a century.”

 

“And longer than a century ago?”

 

He glowered at her halfheartedly because he couldn’t stop the faint laughter trickling into his voice as he said, “And you called me the tease.”

 

She laughed, her eyes shining at him with joy as she pulled him in and, once more, kissed him.

 

\---

 

It had been a trying day for Fen’Harel because he had been forced to kill to free a vulnerable, poorly treated slave. He returned home distant and struggling to control himself, and when he slipped beneath the sheets of his bed and tried to sleep, it evaded and taunted him mercilessly. What poor excuse of rest he did manage to achieve was broken by nightmares and scenes that not even he could manage to control. He struggled against the beast in his half-sleep, his body tossing and turning on the bed as he tried to rein it in. And he cried out each time the beast flared inside him, his body slick with a sheen of sweat that captured in tiny beads at the curve of his muscles. He fought it so hard, but it was a slow, agonising battle that he was losing. Then she came to him.

 

Lavellan slipped into his bed, knelt over him and, gently, placed her hands on him. Her touch was like a cool, soothing balm pressed against his skin that felt like it was burning and he curled into it, desperate to see that it wouldn’t stop. She held him as he panted and jerked, her palms idly caressing his flexed and tense muscles and her mouth whispering soft, gentle nothings into his ear. And, slowly, she pulled him out of it. He grappled back his control second by second until he was lying awake in her arms, in command of his own body and shaking with the force his struggle had wrought on him. He reached out to her, his hand trembling and she caught it in her own, squeezed it reassuringly and pressed a gentle kiss to his tangled, sweaty hair. He folded against her, his head pressed once more into her lap as exhaustion overcame him and he drifted, finally, into a peaceful, untroubled sleep.

 

When he woke the next morning he found himself in the same position, the bedsheets tangled haphazardly over his waist and between his legs as her hand rested softly against his forehead. She’d slept the entire night uncomfortably upright with him cradled against her, warding off his nightmares with her gentle, soothing touch. And he realised, in that moment, how much he truly, desperately, needed her, and how much it would ruin him if she was ever taken away.

 

“Take me with you when you leave to help the slaves,” she said after several moments and he felt guilty for the tired, sleepy notes that graced her voice.

 

“No, Lavellan, I cannot,” he pleaded as he pushed himself up and gazed at her. “It is dangerous.”

 

“And you are struggling to control it,” she replied as she pressed her palm against his bare chest. He tensed under her contact and pulled the blankets tighter around his waist. For all their relationship meant to him, her past made him uncomfortable with the idea of her sharing his bed because he was haunted by the notion of what memories he might wrench up in her.

 

“Let me help you,” she continued as she ran her hand up his collarbone, his neck and finally cupped his jaw. “You need it.”

 

He reached up and placed his hand over hers, a sigh escaping him as his brow creased in indecision. Finally, after several moments, he caved and whispered, “Very well.”

 

He did need her, desperately so. Without her, he would have lost himself to the beast months ago and, sometimes, it felt as if she was the only thing capable of drawing the humanity out in him.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may be every second day now, I will see! And thank you again to everyone following this <3
> 
> Also... Abelas... 
> 
> (this chapter contains implied/referenced non-con)

Crystal spires that stretched between the trees, curled with the branches and became one with them so much so that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. These were what the people built in their biggest, most gracious cities. They were structures that only those of the highest nobility could grace and it was a slaves dream to step foot on the clear, shining walkways. It was here that he brought her that day. This was an abandoned city, long ago lost to the enemies of the people, but the spires remained and they did not easily weather to time. Even now, after years of desertion and neglect, the crystal reflected the sun’s rays, scattering spectrums of colour amongst the leaves and blinding with a dazzling light as they walked along it.

 

They both needed the break. Freeing the slaves was trying and they’d been doing it for weeks on end. It took days of planning to consider who they could feasibly target without Elgar’nan catching them, and even then days more to formulate a plan to infiltrate the master’s home they’d decided on. Fen’Harel was cunning and he was able to outmanoeuvre the other gods at every turn, so much so he suspected Elgar’nan and Andruil had to be at breaking point with frustration by now. But it was demanding and time consuming and it was for this reason that Fen’Harel brought Lavellan to the crystal city that afternoon.

 

And the look on Lavellan’s features, the expression of pure amazement and awe warmed Fen’Harel’s heart as he showed her along the glittering walkways and structures. He led her to a platform that was encased with tall, thin extensions that curved to form a ceiling and were studded with precious gemstones. Once upon a time this would have been the seat of power in this city, and now it was being traversed by the rebel god and a former slave. How times had changed, Fen’Harel mused with a small, ironic smile.

 

He turned to face Lavellan and she paused drinking the scene in to gaze at him. Here, amongst the shining, reflected lights from the spires, her eyes were ethereal and beyond any conventional descriptions of beauty.

 

“It is not by accident that I brought you here,” he told her and she smiled at him warmly.

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

“It pales in comparison to you.”

 

He reached out, let his hand trail over her forehead and traced the curve of her tattoos, followed the way they curved around her cheekbones, her forehead and her chin. Her entire face, so exquisitely bordered by her cruel slave markings. He had once thought they were ugly, wretched things, like scars marring her skin and tainting her. He did not see her that way anymore. She was beautiful beyond measure to him, even with them, but their significance and their meaning continued to bother and nag at him. And it was for that reason that he had truly brought her here today.

 

“Sit,” he said and she did so, kneeling on the ground as he mirrored her opposite. He took a moment to search her face and then, gently, he took her hand in his and gazed at her meaningfully. “The markings on your face,” he started softly, “You do not wear them as a symbol of pride, do you? You wear them because they were forced upon you.”

 

Her brow knitted together and it hurt him to see the pain that pulled at her features. Her gaze flickered to their hands momentarily, but then, slowly, she looked back up at him as she replied. “They were put upon me as slave markings.”

 

He nodded and held her gaze steadily. “You have watched me remove them for other slaves when we freed them. I can do the same for you, if you would want it.”

 

A frown tugged at her features and her expression turned to hurt, her eyes shimmering as tears stung and fought for release. In truth, he had not expected such a reaction and it shocked him so much that he murmured, quickly, “Lavellan, I did not mean to-”

 

“Take them away,” she interrupted and he realised that even beneath the hurt that danced across her face, it was shadowed by a pure, unbreakable hope. “Please.”

 

He reached out, cupped her face with both his hands and she closed her eyes as magic flowed from his fingers. They shone a cool blue as he moved his palms over her skin, over every line of her tattoos and erased them forever. When he was done, his hands came to rest along her jaw and, slowly, her eyes fluttered open. She reached up to curl her fingers around his wrist, her features breaking into a smile even as she couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. And he was beaming at her, drinking in every inch of her bare, free face as he whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

 

She leant forward, her forehead touching his and they stayed like that for what easily might have been hours, both their faces, pure, unadorned and liberated and bowed to one another.

 

\---

 

Later, as they descended the crystal pathways and made to return to the eluvian that would take them home, he watched as she walked beside him. It meant more than she could ever understand to see her without the markings on her features, not because she’d been any less attractive to him when they’d still been there, but it was everything to him to see her freed from the trappings that still marked her as a slave. It was then, carefully, that he decided to see if she felt comfortable enough to share her past with him. He paused in his steps and she did the same, glancing at him curiously as he searched for the right words to use.

 

“Would you tell me of your life before you were Mythal’s servant?” Her brow creased almost instantaneously. He held her gaze, his light blue eyes narrowing as he tried to read her reaction but then she looked away. He sighed and took her hand in his, squeezed it meaningfully and added, “Forgive me, I should have realised it would not be something you would wish to speak of.”

 

“Do you really want to know?” she asked after several moments.

 

“Only if you are willing to tell me.”

 

She bit at her lip for several, long silent moments as his finger ran idle circles on the back of her hand. It was meant to be encouraging, but he couldn’t help feeling that it didn’t come across that way to her.

 

“You know I was a slave,” she started and he nodded ever so slightly. “My master branded me when I was very young for the strength of my magic and for my disobedience. I spent decades with my emotions dulled in his service and he abused me," she paused for a moment, clenching her fists. "He put me to work during the day and forced himself upon me at night. And I didn’t think to care because I didn’t feel anything.”

 

“Lavellan...” He whispered her name as if he didn’t believe what she was saying, but he knew, deep down, the chances of her previous master not taking her to his bed at least once was unfathomably low.

 

“He had pledged himself to Mythal but he only claimed lip service to her. He only wanted her power and favour. More than just me, he abused his slaves worse than even she could tolerate among her followers.” A sick sort of satisfaction flashed over her features then as she continued. “Mythal’s most faithful, Abelas, visited once. He saw the atrocities my master was committing, and he brought him to judgement before the goddess. She was furious with him, took everything he had and exiled him. His slaves, me included, were taken in as servants of Mythal herself or her carefully selected priests and followers.”

 

“How long did you spend at Mythal’s side?” he asked.

 

“A few years. They treated me as best they could, but...” Lavellan’s lips curled into a dry, ironic smile. “I was the only branded Mythal had in her service and the others, Abelas, they found it difficult. They tried, of course, but they didn’t really know what to do with me and the way I acted, it made them uncomfortable.”

 

He frowned. “But they did not mistreat you?”

 

“Aside from their obvious frustrations with trying to coax me into stop acting like a slave, no, of course not.” She shrugged and her gaze flickered up to his, her eyes once more bright and warm. “And then she gave me to you.”

 

A small smile tugged at his lips at the way she had said it, as if she was telling him her life was for the better since he had come into it. In truth, she had changed his life far beyond what he ever thought he could do for her. “What happened to your master?”

 

Her brow tugged into a frown, yet it wasn’t pained as it had been before, rather honestly confused and at a loss. “I’m not sure. She didn’t kill him, but he had nothing when she was done with him.”

 

“Better than he deserved I imagine.”

 

She laughed, low and dry. “Far better than he deserved.”

 

\---

 

Their journey to the eluvian that would bring them home was interrupted by someone Fen’Harel, in all honesty, had not expected to see. Mythal stood beside the mirror, her hands clasped behind her back and Abelas by her side, the goddess gazing at them with her curious look that begged that she knew more than what she was letting on. Fen’Harel paused in his steps, a frown dancing across his features and Lavellan did the same. He was fairly certain it was not a coincidence that the goddess was here before him.

 

“Mythal?” he started because it did surprise him to find her there. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “Are you following me?”

 

“Perhaps,” she replied and her gaze flickered to Lavellan, her lips pulling into a small grin as she took in her bare face. “Although it is for your own good.”

 

His frown deepened and his lips parted to reply, but she interrupted him.

 

“They know about your relationship with Lavellan.” Her lips, despite what she said, tugged into a smirk at her words and he wondered, not for the first time, if she had suspected or even planned this would happen all along. He would not have put it past her. But then her expression faded back to a serious one moments later. “Andruil is beyond livid.”

 

“Andruil?” Lavellan mused softly.

 

“She... cared for me once,” Fen’Harel muttered slowly. “I spurned her.”

 

Abelas gave a little snort of derision and murmured, very near sarcastically, “That is a mild way of putting it.” He glowered at the other man but Abelas merely shrugged and added, pointedly towards Lavellan, “He ignored her for centuries because he was too self absorbed to even consider anyone but himself.”

 

“This is irrelevant,” Mythal interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Andruil wants your heart, Fen’Harel.” She paused and gave him a pointed, meaningful look. “And I think we both know what that really means.”

 

And with that, the goddess and her servant disappeared through the eluvian, leaving Fen’Harel with Lavellan by his side and a pensive look staining his features. He wondered at his options, if he could leave Lavellan to protect her without it breaking the both of them, if it would even make a difference given how deep Andruil’s hatred ran. He knew it would not. Perhaps Lavellan picked up on his thoughts because she whispered, gently, “Fen’Harel...”

 

“Lavellan, she wants you dead,” he replied brokenly and even as she reached for his hand, her touch was little comfort.

 

“I’ll be careful,” she tried in a weak attempt to reassure him.

 

“You need to be more than careful,” was his pained reply.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few notes... ok a lot of notes for this chapter!
> 
> 1\. There was a bit of a shit-storm of drama in my life yesterday. The point is, that I am so grateful for all the lovely comments you people have left me because it made it so much easier to deal with <3 thank you <3 <3  
> 2\. Much thank-you's must be given to a lovely lady called Kreebby who helped proof read this chapter <3  
> 3\. I've tentatively decided to re-join the tumblr community. If you are interested in following me, you can find me here http://brelakor.tumblr.com/  
> 4\. There is mature content (consensual sex) in this chapter!  
> 5\. There is also implied non-con in this chapter  
> 6\. Also also, another lovely lady named Grievous Girl drew some fanart of Solas/Fen'Harel and one of them is how I imagine Fen'Harel in this story is meant to look like... if you are interested, it can be found here: http://grievous-girl.tumblr.com/post/106301250611/i-did-a-mini-project-solas-trading-cards-3 and it is the top middle picture <3

They’d picked what should have been an easy target. It was a far away mansion, secluded from the rest that was owned by one of Andruil’s followers. It may have been foolish of him, but Fen’Harel targeted her people deliberately to infuriate and ridicule her, and, in some ways, to weaken her as well because the more her rage grew, the more she was blinded by it. Regardless, they’d broken into the mansion, found the slaves and made to leave when they’d been ambushed in a courtyard. They were outnumbered, the master’s guards were surrounding them and Lavellan placed herself before the slaves, her arms held out to try and shield them. But the guards did not move, and as a single, robed figure stalked down a set of stairs and came before them, Fen’Harel realised why. The master’s ugly features were twisted into fury at their actions, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared Fen’Harel down. Then, his gaze flickered behind the god to his slaves and trailed over Lavellan. He paused, his eyes widening ever so slightly before fixing them back on Fen’Harel with a glower.

 

“You have my property, wolf,” he sneered.

 

“They are not your property, they are people,” Fen’Harel replied and his voice tinted with a growl that betrayed his wavering control.

 

“I was not speaking of them.”

 

A crack of lightning seared through the air but the master deflected it with an easily summoned barrier. It was then that Fen’Harel heard Lavellan hiss; in a fury he had never heard grace her voice before, “ _You_.”

 

He turned and saw Lavellan stalking towards them, her eyes shining with such rage she ignored him entirely and sparked lightning from her fingertips again at the master. He deflected it once more, years of practice and training easily outmanoeuvring her but it didn’t stop her.

 

“I always knew you were particularly powerful, but it will be no difficulty to suppress you once again,” the master replied and he flicked his hand lazily, summoned a force of magic that slammed her ruthlessly into the ground. She gasped and Fen’Harel moved to assist her until he saw the guards move in around the slaves, their weapons poised to execute them at a moment’s notice and he paused because he couldn’t sacrifice them. “Did you think you would stop being my property simply because Mythal gave you to this dog? Did you think you would stop being a slave simply because he erased the brands on your face? They can _easily_ be replaced.”

 

“Figures that only Andruil would take you after Mythal disavowed you,” Lavellan spat as she pulled herself from the ground, but even as she made to stand, the master forced her down again with a second spell and it tore a low, bestial growl from Fen’Harel’s throat as he watched him stalk towards her and kneel beside her.

 

“Does your new master appreciate you?” the master sneered as he grabbed at her chin roughly. “Do you pleasure him as you did me, or do you not interest him in favour of prettier girls who wouldn’t spout wretched things from their lips and try to resist him?”

 

“She is not my slave,” Fen’Harel growled and the guards hesitated when they heard the poorly concealed rage in his voice, and saw the sharpening of his nails.

 

“No?” The master laughed in her face as he forced her to stare at him. “Pity. She made a good one when she didn’t have her magic. The things she would do for me in bed... she may not have been as attractive as the others, but you would never want for another so talented once she slipped-”

 

His voice was cut off by a burst of raw, poorly controlled magic that sent the master flying into a wall, his body cracking and breaking at the impact. Lavellan scrambled to her feet, span around to stare at Fen’Harel and her eyes widened in horror as he doubled over and succumbed to the beast.

 

“Fen’Harel,” she started, pleadingly, as she made to approach him but he growled, throaty and guttural. He knew, even as much as she meant to him, that the wolf would not discriminate. That in its bloodthirsty craze it would attack everything in its sight, even the slaves, and even her.

 

So, with the last of his willpower before transforming completely, he managed to spit out a deep, insistent, “ _Go_.”

 

And he was lost to it, his rage blinding him as he lunged at the guards. They scattered before the wolf but he was faster, deadlier and he pinned them, bore his fangs and sank them into their throats. Their screams and their blood spurred him on, fuelled his anger and the last thing he saw before his mind was clouded entirely in his frenzy, was the sight of Lavellan desperately herding the slaves out of the courtyard and to safety. And with them gone, the last shreds of his humanity disappeared and the beast roared in triumph.

 

\---

 

Hours later Fen’Harel staggered back into his home an exhausted, broken man. It had turned into a massacre and he was drenched in the blood of Lavellan’s master and his guards, his hair matted with it and staining his skin and soaked into his robes. He’d lost control, completely and utterly, mauled them to death and ravaged in each scream he’d torn from their throats. And she was there waiting for him when he returned home. He prayed she wouldn’t have been and he tried to ignore her, tried to slip past her but she saw how defeated and lifeless he was and she reached out for him. He fell into her arms, his strength failing him but he tried with everything he had to pull away from her.

 

“Fen’Harel,” she whispered.

 

“They’re dead,” he gasped even as he tried to push her away and pulled away from her.

 

But she grabbed his hand and wouldn’t leave him be. He wished so dearly she would. He didn’t need her to see him like this, to see his shame and disgrace so etched into him like the blood drenching his body. He stared at her with a pained expression, his once clear blue eyes murky and dark to reflect the turmoil raging inside him.

 

“Lavellan, please,” he begged but even as he pleaded, she took his face in her hands, pulled him down to her and pressed her forehead against his. He tried to resist the embrace at first because he didn’t deserve it, but he folded after a few minutes and curled his arms around her.

 

After several moments she pulled back to stare at him with sad, pitying eyes, and ran her thumb over his lips, over the blood that was drying there. He couldn’t handle the look she was giving him, it was like a dagger twisting in his chest and it shamed him, but she didn’t care. She sighed as her gaze travelled over the blood that was drenching his clothes and drying onto his skin.

 

“All of this for me...” she started gently. “Why?”

 

“He deserved it for what he did to you,” he replied and she sighed.

 

“And what about you? Do you deserve the guilt?”

 

He was silent for several long moments and then, bitterly, said, “Yes.”

 

“You don’t,” she chided and her hand slipped into his once more, tugging him gently. “Come with me.”

 

He didn’t have the strength to question or argue with her so he let her lead him back through his eluvian. She took him to the river where he’d freed her magic and then she paused, turned around and slipped her hands under the collar of his robes.

 

 “Let me clean the blood from your hands,” she said as she pushed the fabric off his chest and let it fall to the ground. He gazed at her for a long moment before bowing his head slowly in defeat.

 

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and told him to get in the water. He obeyed because he was shattered and defenceless, completely submitted to her and the way she took control over the situation. She made him sit in the shallow part of river and, carefully, slowly, she washed the blood from his skin. Her hands ran over every inch of him, every muscle, easing the red staining his skin away. Water ran down his body in tainted crimson streams and he couldn’t watch, only capable of staring into the distance. He didn’t even care when she pulled off the rest of his clothes to reach the blood that had soaked through his leggings. Ordinarily he would have been hesitant, at best, of being completely naked and exposed before her, but in that moment nothing mattered other than his guilt.

 

When she finished, she knelt down behind him and pulled his head down into her lap, letting his hair soak in the water and easing the sticky mass of blood out. He stared up at her until she was done, and then she leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

 

“You’re more than the monster you think you are,” she whispered as her hands cupped his face, caressed his cheek and her hair fell around them both like a curtain to block out the rest of the world that he loathed so much. And then she whispered it, those three words he wished she’d never uttered because it made her his irrefutable weakness, his choke point, the one they could use against him to make him suffer. “I love you.”

 

“How could you?” It came as barely more than a whisper because she couldn’t, she shouldn’t have and yet... she did.

 

Her touch slipped from his face and she moved around him as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. She faced him, straddled him, linked her arms around his neck and gazed at him for several long moments, before leaning down and kissing him. His hands fell to her thighs as she gently, but insistently, pushed for entrance to his mouth and he let her. When she broke away from him and undid the ties at the front of her dress, the fabric falling from her shoulders and into the water, he paused. Whether this was right or not, he still was unsure. It nagged at him that no matter how much he freed her, she’d still been a slave once. And yet she was offering herself to him now, completely of her own volition, and he would have been lying if he denied that he wanted her.

 

Slowly, gently, he leant forward and kissed her neck, let his tongue run over her collarbone and grazed his teeth along her skin. When he sucked and palmed her breast, she moaned so gently in his ear he swore he’d never heard a more beautiful noise in his life. She guided his hand between her legs, telling him what she wanted, giving him permission without letting a word slip between her lips. He felt her through the fabric of her clothes but they were soaked from the river and stuck to her skin so tightly he couldn’t undo them fast enough for her.

 

“Ruin them,” she breathed and he obeyed with a jolt of magic that ripped the material apart and cast it aside. She bent over him, pressed her forehead into his shoulder and sighed against his skin when he ran a finger over her sex and then slipped it inside her.

 

He was gentle with her, careful and he never forgot it was her choice, that he had her permission and he whispered a soft promise into her hair that he wouldn’t treat her as the rest had, that he couldn’t use her. When he coaxed her to release, she dug her nails into his back and moaned, deep and throaty against his neck as she shuddered and pushed against his touch desperately. He drew out every last tremble of pleasure until she was gasping for breath because he knew no one had ever cared about her enough to worry about her satisfaction before, and he would change that. It didn’t matter he was aching for her because this was not about him.

 

Eventually she pulled away, her violet eyes dark with desire as she pressed a hungry, desperate kiss against his lips once more. Her fingers wrapped around his arousal but he refused to let her touch him at the expense of her own pleasure and he stopped her, as much as it ached him to do so, with a hand gently clasped around hers. She stared at him, confusion evident on her features until he whispered, softly, “Don’t, not this time.”

 

She understood, because instead she pressed against him, guided him into her hot, wet entrance and bit back a gasp as he filled her. He let her set the pace, gave her complete control over the situation and ignored his own desire as she came to her climax a second time. The shallow waves of the river lapped against their thighs as he held her in his arms, cradled her and kissed her neck softly as she clenched around him and it drove him to his rapture, made him buck and tremble against her as he spilled himself in her and breathed her name.

 

It was then, holding her quivering in his arms, that he returned those three, dangerous words. And he prayed that one day they wouldn’t be used against him.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a quick note for this chapter! Two amazing awesome two have drawn fanart for this story (I'm still pinching myself about it) and I really, really would like to share it with you all because they're really talented and what they've done is beautiful <3 
> 
> The first is by fuzzyscribbles on tumblr and can be found here: http://fuzzyscribbles.tumblr.com/post/106586561004/what-are-backgrounds-what-is-painting-one-of-the
> 
> And the second is by pinacoladamatata on tumblr and can be found here: http://pinacoladamatata.tumblr.com/post/106589877342/a-few-sketches-of-this-scene-from-crystal-white-by
> 
> Anyway... again, thank you infinitely to everyone who's been so kind in supporting this, you guys are so amazing! <3

In hindsight, removing their clothes in the river was not the best idea. The water flowed just fast enough to take them away and left them with nothing but Fen’Harel’s robes that had been left on the bank when they made to return home. He wrapped them around the both of them, and, in some strange way, feeling her pressed against him and sharing the fabric draped around her shoulders was more comforting than he had thought it would be. The next morning, though, their abandoned clothes were surprisingly returned to them in the form of Mythal visiting his home and holding their sodden possessions in her arms. The goddess raised an amused eyebrow, dumped the wet pile of clothes onto the floor and placed a hand on her hips.

 

“Abelas discovered a most curious thing at the end of the river beside my temple this morning,” she started as she nudged the heap of fabric with her foot. “I do believe these belong to you.”

 

Fen’Harel’s face flushed so red it felt like his cheeks were on fire and his blush stretched to the very tip of his ears. He glanced at Lavellan beside him and wished he hadn’t because the embarrassment staining her features was actually far more endearing than he’d expected, and it didn’t help the situation that his gaze softened and his lips pulled into a stupid smile when he looked at her.

 

“You should have seen the look on Abelas’ face,” Mythal continued with a chuckle, “I do not think I have ever seen him so mortified in all the centuries he has served me.”

 

A snort of evil, mischievous laughter slipped from his lips at the image that played in Fen’Harel’s mind. In truth he did not personally have anything against the other man, but Abelas was so insufferably depressing sometimes that it drove even he, the self declared grim and fatalistic god, mad.

 

“But I did not come here to mock your apparent penchant for destroying Lavellan’s clothes,” Mythal continued and her previous humour disappeared as a serious, careful look stole over her features. “I heard of the massacre.”

 

Fen’Harel glanced away, ashamed but she snapped at him so sharply that he jerked his gaze back to her in a split second to avoid her ire.

 

“You are beyond what even I or Lavellan could do for you, you are beyond pretending you can hold it back and suppress it,” Mythal continued. “You need to confront your guilt before it destroys you.”

 

“I _can’t_ ,” he stressed the word like a broken, begging man. “Please -”

 

“He would not show you where the guilt that feeds the beast lies because he is too weak and scared to face it,” she interrupted as she stepped forward, pressed her hand to Lavellan’s forehead and his lover stilled for a moment in surprise, but then closed her eyes and accepted the flare of magic that flowed from the goddess’ hand and into her. When Lavellan’s eyes flickered open once more, Mythal stepped back and narrowed her eyes. “Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” Lavellan replied and she nodded at the goddess, the two of them staring at each other as if he didn’t exist, as if his wishes and his disapproval were irrelevant and unimportant.

 

“Take him there, no matter how much he argues or resists,” Mythal continued even as he tried to interrupt her but choked on his own words. “And he _will_ argue, he will dig his heels into the ground and plead with you every step of the way. But it is for his own good.”

 

And with a swish of her beautifully embroidered robes, Mythal disappeared from his home through his eluvian, leaving Fen’Harel staring, disbelieving and affronted because he couldn’t, he did not have the strength, to face what the goddess asked of him.

 

\---

 

“Lavellan, please,” he begged with her but she didn’t pay him any heed. She pulled, very near dragged; him through the entrance of his abandoned, derelict temple and every step further into the building was like a rush of guilt flowing over him and building up inside.

 

His eyes dashed across the walls; across every mural that depicted him that he wished he’d never see again. Pictures of the wolf, tall and imposing with its pure white fur, pictures of him dressed in finery and leering over his slaves. So many things he had suppressed and tried to forget but never could.  And she dragged him through all of it heartlessly, ignored the pained expression on his features and the way his voice broke up in his throat as his mind was assaulted with images of what he had once been.

 

She took him to his old throne room, the heart of his shame and it was there that she let go and he fell to his knees, defeated and cradling his head because he _couldn’t_. It was different in the Fade; he could twist and manipulate the feelings there so it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. But here, in the flesh, with the floor cold against his legs and the vile excuse of a chair metres before him... it was torture, and she didn’t even care. He wondered for the briefest of moments how he could ever have loved her if she would do this to him.

 

“You fester and seethe at what you used to be because you make no effort to change it, not while you still sit on your marble throne,” she said after several seconds, and her voice was so painted with disdain that he flinched and realised that Mythal had shown her more than simply the location of his temple.

 

But she was right. Damn her but if she didn’t know him better than he knew himself.

 

Slowly, he stood up, exhaled a deep sigh and stared, very near seethed, at her. “Then what, pray, would you have me do?” he hissed. “Because the memories will still be there every time I close my eyes.”

 

Her bright, violet eyes held his murky blue ones, so tainted from their usual clarity by the light of his temple, as she replied. “Kneel.” 

 

It was a blatant command and every fibre of him lashed against it, refused to obey and he resisted for minutes. But she continued to stare him down, and then he felt his legs bend and submit until his knees touched the floor once more. She couldn’t have used magic on him, he would have known, but so help him if it didn’t feel like she had.

 

She walked behind him, fisted her hands in the hem of his robes and he felt more than heard the rip and tear of fabric. Then it was binding his wrists behind him, cutting into his skin and chafing it raw the more he moved. He learnt quickly to be still.

 

“You don’t really know what its like,” she whispered from behind him as he felt her fingers trace along his neck and ear. The intimacy and affection that usually followed at her touch was gone in that moment. This was domineering, possessive and selfish the way she trailed his jaw. “You fight for the slaves where no one else would, and they need it. But you could never understand while you’re still a world apart from them.”

 

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, pulling his head back and as she continued he felt the cool blade of a dagger slide across the back of his neck, taunting, warning him. “You’ve never been someone else’s property. You’ve never had someone else dictate how you should be, how you should act, how you should... look.”

 

With a smooth flick of the dagger she sliced through his thick bundle of dreadlocks. One by one they fell away and it stoked and fed his anger, his fury that someone else, even her, would change what had been part of him for so long. But then he realised, for so many others, that was a normal part of their lives, to have no control over even the basics of how they wore their hair.

 

The blade clattered to the floor and she walked around before him, crouched and grabbed his chin, forced him to stare up at her as she pressed a harsh kiss to his lips. It was full of bites and nicks from her teeth, completely foreign from the soft, loving affection she usually showered him with. It left him raw, bruised and with the taste of blood in his mouth. When she pulled back, the dark, domineering look on her features made his blood run cold and he wondered if it had always been there, suppressed, and he’d simply never noticed it.

 

Then she stood, stalked towards his throne and trailed her fingers along the arm and back of it as she spoke. “How many people did you have kneel before you? How many lives did you judge? How many of them did you own?”

 

“Too many,” he whispered and his head hung, his eyes slipping closed until she snapped at him and he jerked to stare at her.

 

“No, you will watch.” She was gripping the throne with one of her hands, her knuckles white from the force she was exerting on the marble. “How many slaves did you kill, how many did you waste because they weren’t obedient?”

 

“I said too many,” he repeated and the tinge of snark and frustration was too obvious in his words.

 

“Why?”

 

“I had no choice.” She shook her head, dissatisfied with his answer and he frowned, searched the recesses of his feelings and his guilt until he settled softly on, “I did not know better.”

 

A flash of magic sparked from her hand and rippled through the throne, cracking the marble and ruining it until the only remains where broken chunks of stone littering the floor. His heart twisted at the sight and he wasn’t sure why. It had only been a glorified chair. But it had been so much more as well. He’d lounged on it, commanded the lives of others from it, considered them worthless and irrelevant and it hadn’t even bothered him. And now it was broken.

 

“But you learnt,” she added softly as she walk over and knelt before him. He couldn’t even look at her. He stared at the ground, his lips parted and stained with blood and his eyes stinging with the tears he held onto so dearly because he wouldn’t bear to shed them before her.

 

And all she did was kiss his forehead, her soft lips brushing against his skin as she gently pushed his now short, ragged hair from his face. It was far beyond what he deserved and when she curled her arms around his back and undid his bonds, he slipped his arms to brace against hers as she linked her hands behind his neck. His head fell against her shoulder, his tears soaking into the fabric of her clothes and his body heaving as she waited and held him.

 

They stayed like that for hours until the guilt ran dry and the only thing that remained was his pride and his promise to be better than his past. The wolf was tamed that night, bound and sedated and leashed to his side once more, completely under his control and his will.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so amazing, I really can't thank you enough for how much encouragement you give me <3
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to a lovely person named Kreebby. It's basically just smut with very little plot. You can skip it if you don't want to read explicit content :) (there will be much plot in the next chapter)
> 
> (There's some elven in this chapter too, I know technically they are probably all speaking elven all the time anyway but I decided to leave the line as it is rather than put it in English because I felt it would sound really weird in English heh)

“Lavellan,” he started as he put his book down and linked his fingers in a long stretch. “I had a thought for targeting one of Sylaise’s priests tomorrow.”

 

He paused for a moment for her reply and when nothing came, he glanced at her where she laid beside him on his bed, and frowned. “Lavellan?” he prompted but she was far too engrossed in her own book to notice him.

 

Fen’Harel pushed himself onto his knees, crawled towards her and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. She didn’t even so much as acknowledge him and he scowled at her, climbed over her legs until he was straddling her waist and stared at her with his arms crossed over his chest. He gazed at her for several long minutes and she simply reached up, flipped the page of her book, and continued reading. In that moment, he had enough, because she had been ignoring him the entire evening.

 

“Lavellan,” he purred again as he pressed a kiss to her neck. He raked his teeth along her skin, ran his tongue over her collarbone and when he received no reaction at all he frowned and gazed up at her. She was purposefully ignoring him now, of that he was exquisitely certain.

 

He’d changed for the better since the temple; he could control himself now completely without worry and the slaves benefited from it. And he saw it in her eyes, the way she stared at him with such a warm, almost proud affection that made it worth the pain he’d gone through to achieve it. But that evening the only thing that flickered in her eyes was mischief. 

 

“This is an interesting book about magic,” she told him simply as she flipped the page. “Have you read it?”

 

He wrinkled his nose in mild frustration. “Of course I have. But you have been reading it for hours, it is enough, put it down.”

 

“You aren’t exactly providing with me an alternative to entertain myself.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her. Even if she wouldn’t look at him, he saw the way her lips tugged into a barely concealed impish grin. She was baiting him on purpose, teasing him, goading him for a reaction. And he’d already fallen into her trap; he was already stuck and conquered with only one way out that wouldn’t shatter his pride.

 

“Pray, then, what does the book tell about twisting magical fire?” He pressed against her chest, breathed in deep the smell of her hair as his fingers curled around the buttons that bound her dress.

 

“It describes how to summon it by creating a spark to ignite the fire, and then feeding it with magic to keep it alight.”

 

“Curious.” With a smooth, deft flick of his wrist, he seared through the string that bound her buttons and, one by one, they each fell away, useless. He pulled open her dress until the only thing stopping her being bared completely for him was the fabric of her smallclothes. He reached out, cupped her breast through the material of her chest binding and a smug look tore over his features as he saw how her toes curled and flexed ever so gently at his actions.

 

And he stopped as soon as he’d started, glanced up at her and saw, even as she stubbornly refused to lift her eyes from the pages of her book, that her eyebrows were knitting together in the faintest of frustrations. 

 

“And then what does it say about fire?” he prompted.

 

“That with the right control and care you can sear through anything, no matter how fine or thin.”

 

“Truly?” he mused as he ran a finger down the side of her binding. “I can attest that it takes many years of practice to be precise enough not to burn your target.” He followed his fingers with a stream of magic that destroyed her binding but stopped shy of only making her skin tingle warmly.

 

“That’s the end of the chapter,” she said in a determinedly placid, unmoved voice as he cast aside her binding and sucked at her breast. He played and laved attention on her, ran his tongue over her skin and rolled her nipple between his fingers just long enough to feel her body flex beneath him and the softest, sweetest of sighs fall from her lips.

 

It was then that he stopped, forced himself to pull away from her chest, sat back on his heels and gazed at her. For the first time that evening, her eyes flickered from her book and met his, and the expression on her face was one of mixed frustration, anger and poorly concealed desire.

 

“Is that it?” she blurted, her annoyance evident in her voice.

 

A smirk played across his features and it took all he had in him to stop himself from bending over her and ravishing her body, the way she laid before him so exposed, so needing. “Was that the last chapter in the book?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then best that you keep reading.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment and he started to wonder if she was going to call him out on his teasing, demand that he stop this twisted revenge for her ignoring him half the day. But she didn’t. She simply gazed back at the book, flipped to the next chapter, and began reading aloud again. He obliged her by leaning forward once more towards her chest.  

 

“The next chapter describes the use of magical lightning.”

 

“Go on,” he breathed against her skin as he worked his way down her body, kissing down her stomach as he went before pausing at her sex. Try as hard as she might have to be indifferent, she was so wet for him already that when he pulled off her smallclothes and ran a finger over her entrance , it drove him mad to feel her slick and aching to his touch. He edged slightly lower until he could flick his tongue over her folds and every breath pulled in her thick scent of arousal.

 

But he paused just shy of touching her even if he ached to taste her, because she’d stopped reading again and he looked up at her. She was watching him intently and their eyes locked for a moment, before he raised a single, curved eyebrow at her and flicked his gaze to the book in her hands. She swallowed thickly, took a moment to pause and he presumed steady herself, before she continued.

 

“The conjuring of magical lightning is perhaps the most difficult of the elemental forces to master,” she started and he rewarded her by dragging his tongue up along her sex and parting her wet folds. The taste of her made him heady and as he held down her hips to stop her bucking, his hands shook and trembled because for him, up until recently, it had been decades since he’d savoured someone else. And he had done so many, many times before. He had once had a... reputation amongst the other noble women.

 

“It is more complicated than the summoning of fire or ice because it cannot be benefited by maintaining an altered temperature; it requires the constant, wilful manipulation of the air and the surroundings.”

 

He rewarded her by pushing into her entrance, flicking his tongue and laving attention on her. He steadied her jerking hips, took his time and drew out her pleasure until her reading was in broken, desperate gasps. And then her voice faltered and stopped, and so did he. He paused his tongue and waited for several long moments until she began again.

 

“Electricity is curious amongst the schools of magic in that it has historically been used for more than combat.” At her sentence, he pushed a single finger easily into her wet sex and let a small jolt of electricity spark into her. She jerked and fisted one of her hands in his short hair as she hissed, desperately, “ _Fen’Harel_.”

 

“Continue,” he growled and it came out far throatier and deeper than he had intended. She did so even as her voice trembled and stuttered as he pushed a second finger into her. He couldn’t deny her much longer so with each sentence, each accurately recited phrase, he scissored his fingers and sucked and rubbed at her clit. And she was undone in moments, her last sentence trailing into a cry as her body tensed and spasmed as she came, hard.

 

Eventually, her hand curled in his hair fell away and he ran his tongue one, final time up her sex, caught her sweet juices and pulled himself up. She was splayed before him on the bed, her body coated in a sheen of sweat and the book hastily cast aside in her climax. He crawled up her, pressed a kiss to her lips and pushed his tongue into her mouth so she would taste what had been driving him heady for the past minutes.  She moaned against him ever so softly, her hand sliding down his body to press against his thick, aching arousal that tented his robes. He sighed, deep and longing but her touch slipped away as fleetingly as it had come.

 

He frowned ever so slightly, stared at her and a wave of desire and apprehension shuddered through him as she fixed him with a smirk and said, confidently, “There were some difficult words in the next chapter. Maybe you should read it.”

 

He was a fool to think she wouldn’t try and get even. But even as she forced the book into his hands, kissed along his neck and undid the clasps on his robes, it did not feel right and he cast the tome aside, gripped her shoulders and pushed her back gently. She frowned at him because his want for her was painfully obvious between them and yet he couldn’t, not in good conscious and with her history, allow her to return the favour.

 

“Lavellan, please,” he started but she interrupted him.

 

“You’re not comfortable with me touching you because of what my master did to me.” Her assumption was painfully accurate and his brow creased as he gazed at her. Her features softened and she reached out, cupped his cheek. He pressed against her palm, a sigh slipping from his lips as he released his hold on her shoulders. She leant forward, kissed him fleetingly and then he spoke, his warm breath running across her lips with every word.

 

“I cannot, I...” He paused for a moment. “Take me, but please, not like that.”

 

She pulled back slightly to stare at him, her eyes dancing over his face as she tried to read him. Eventually she nodded, pushed him onto his back and slipped her hands between his robes. She parted them, exposed his naked chest and she leant forward, pressing a kiss against his skin as her fingers worked at his breeches and smallclothes. When she freed him of them, she positioned herself over him and guided him, slowly, into her. He bit at his lip, one of his hands trailing to rest on her thigh and the other curling around her neck as she leant forward and stole another kiss from his lips.

 

He let her set the pace, let her choose every thrust and movement. When she pressed into the crook of his neck, her breath hot against his skin as she moaned and trembled above him, he slipped a hand between their bodies and rubbed at her clit again. He undid her and she cried, softly, into his shoulder and he held her as she came and clenched around him. It shattered his resolve and he groaned as he spilt himself, his hips jerking as, together, they rode out the waves of their climax. And when they were spent, she folded against him, exhausted and he wrapped his arms around her, buried into her hair and held her, gently, for minutes.

 

When she eventually pulled away from him and collapsed onto the bed, he moved onto his side and faced her, his hand cupping hers against the sheet as he gazed at her like a man hopelessly lost in his admiration and love.

 

“Arlath, ma vhenan,” he whispered as his fingers intertwined with hers, “You change my entire world.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little worried about this chapter... so I hope it turns out ok!
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone for being so amazingly supportive!
> 
> Also, another lovely person has drawn a picture for this story! It is crimsonadvent, who is an all-round awesome person and she drew this lovely picture here: http://crimsonadvent.tumblr.com/post/106905736077/because-people-want-the-thing-i-wanted-him-to

She was all over him, her hands sliding over his chest and pushing at his robes as he, almost clumsily, wrapped his arms around her waist. She was pushing her tongue into his mouth, begging for entrance as he staggered backwards under her insistent embrace. Not that he minded having her in his arms, but he was struggling for purchase on the floor of his study. Then, his foot slipped on a book and he lost his balance and fell, dragging her down with him. His forehead caught the corner of his desk, the wood digging deep into his skin as Lavellan rolled and tumbled to the floor with decidedly more grace than him.

 

Fen’Harel cursed softly as he picked himself up. The warm trickle of blood running down the bridge of his nose made him frown, and he raised a hand to his forehead and flinched as he felt the gash just above his brow. It was deep, and it hurt. Even as he poured magic from his fingers to close the wound, he knew it would scar.

 

“And you were meant to meet Mythal later,” Lavellan pointed out unhelpfully with a little snicker.

 

He groaned as he wiped the blood from his face, scowling at her because he knew the goddess would be incapable of not noticing his new scar. And she would ask questions, and tease. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbled and he glowered at Lavellan half-heartedly when she laughed at him.

 

Lavellan pushed herself to her feet, a grin staining her features as she stepped towards him, pressed her body against his and trailed a hand up his arm. He glanced down, his gaze following her touch until she reached his shoulder and curled her arms around his neck.

 

“My poor little rebel wolf,” she purred and his features contorted in annoyance at the pet nickname she’d so obviously picked up from the spirit of wisdom. She tilted her head, ducked in closer and brushed her lips against his fleetingly. He leaned towards her, tried to turn the whisper of a kiss into something more but she angled away from him, a smile dancing across her features as she stared at him haughtily.

 

“Why must you call me that?” he replied with a small sigh. “You know how I detest it.”

 

She smirked ever so gently. “Because you’re cute when you get that little petulant frown on your features.”

 

“I am a god, Lavellan.” He tried so hard not to frown petulantly as she’d described, but it was surprisingly difficult for him not to do it. “I am not cute.”

 

She laughed warmly, pulled him into another kiss and he resisted at first, tried, in vain, to rebuke her for teasing him by refusing to return her affection. But he could never truly turn her away and she knew it far too well, because he crumpled against her and opened, hungrily, to her insistent tongue as he slipped his arms around her waist.

 

\---

 

The moment he stepped out of Mythal’s eluvian he knew something was not right. The braziers on the wall where dimmed and the air, it felt thick and heavy as if the temple had not been inhabited for years and had been left to rot and fester. And as he turned the corner, descended the steps from her eluvian and saw Abelas knelt on the floor, his head bowed, Fen’Harel realised why. Mythal laid on the ground, still, lifeless and unmoving.

 

He was tearing through the hall towards her, his features painted with confusion and disbelief as he came to a stop beside Abelas and gasped, “What happened?”

 

“She was murdered, that’s what happened,” the other man snapped. “Is that not obvious to you?”

 

Fen’Harel’s heart twisted and he stared, disbelieving and shocked for minutes because he had not, not in his wildest dreams ever thought he would find himself here. His voice was barely more than a whisper, a broken, shattered remnant of a sound that betrayed how he felt at knowing the one other of his kind who had understood, was gone. “ _Who_?”

 

“ _I_ do not know,” Abelas replied bitterly and his dark, pensive eyes flickering up to the god as he continued, “But the others, they blame you.”

 

“I could never-” he started, but the other man shook his head and laughed, bitterly.

 

“I know as much as you do that you are the last person who would kill her, but what does it matter?” Abelas’ lips pulled into a vicious, seething snarl as he added, “You should return to your home, Andruil has already left and sworn vengeance upon Lavellan’s life.”

 

“She couldn’t, not through my-” he cut himself off because he meant to say his eluvian, that it was impossible that Andruil could touch his heart while she stood protected by his mirror. But it dawned on him then, for the first time, what had happened when he’d let the goddess into his home and she’d kissed him. He was a fool beyond measure to not take notice of the way her hands had trailed over his orb, the magic that had glowed at her fingertips and what secrets she might have stolen.

 

He cursed, deep and rumbling in the back of his throat, his hands fisting in his short hair as he cried out in frustration at his idiocy. And then he was wilfully transforming into the wolf, dashing through Mythal’s temple and her eluvian faster than his natural legs could carry him and running, desperately, through the crossroads and to his home.

 

\---

 

She was walking down the corridor and into the entrance room, on her way to the study and with a nose in her book when it happened. She hadn’t been paying attention, because between the tome she was so entranced in and her mind wandering to Fen’Harel and their misadventures that morning, there was precious little of her attention to be spared. It was only when a rush of magic flared over her senses like a cold flood of water smashing into her that she paused and looked up. She hesitated where she stood a few metres from Fen’Harel’s eluvian, and then frowned as she saw someone step out of the mirror. And it was not who she expected.

 

Lavellan’s lips parted, her brow tugging into a faint frown and the book slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor as her eyes raked over Andruil. The goddess sneered at her, her fingers already poised to loose and arrow and it took all Lavellan’s reflexes could give her to deflect the shot with a hasty barrier.

 

“Hello, slave,” Andruil sneered and Lavellan scrambled away from her, winding her way through the corridors of Fen’Harel’s home even as the other goddess stalked after her. But she was fighting a losing battle against one who had spent centuries perfecting her hunt, and Lavellan was cornered and trapped in Fen’Harel’s quarters within minutes.

 

She staggered backwards, her hands shining as she tried to maintain her barrier and she managed, for a while, to deflect the arrows that Andruil pelted her with. But the goddess was cunning and when she realised her bow wouldn’t win her the quarry she sought, she dropped the weapon and disappeared in a flash of smoke. Lavellan spun around, trying to pinpoint her attacker but her thoughts were too scattered and fearful to properly try and locate the other woman effectively. 

 

And then the blade came. A swift flash of steel as the dagger buried deep into her gut, twisted and turned to rip her apart and seared agony through her body. Lavellan collapsed to her knees, a gasp spilling from her lips as she pressed her hands to her stomach and tried to stem the flow of blood. Her clothes drenched red as her vision blurred and she tumbled and fell to her side, her body tensing as pain ripped through her. It was then that she saw the orb lying on the bed, so close and yet just out of reach and she wondered if, perhaps, it might help her. And given she had no other options available to her, she seized upon the possibility that it might.

 

Even as Andruil laughed at her, she struggled to pull herself up against the bed, edged, inch by inch, until her fingers were so close and it was then that the goddess paused to snarl. But Andruil, in her arrogant gloating, was not fast enough and as Lavellan’s hand brushed, ever so lightly, against the cool surface of the orb, a wave of magic latched onto her wrist. It pulled on her, wrapped her body in magic and then, in a flash, it was gone. The force of the disappearing spell flung both women against the wall and while Andruil snarled and picked herself up, Lavellan crumpled on the floor, her body glowing faintly with the remnants of the magic the orb had engulfed her with.

 

And then, seconds later, she felt her consciousness slip away and the world became a cold, dark and unforgiving place.

 

\---

 

Fen’Harel tore through the crossroads like a crazed, desperate animal, threw himself through his eluvian and prayed, begged, that he would be fast enough. And he wasn’t. He couldn’t even have been close to it, because when he stepped through the mirror, ground to a halt and slipped effortlessly into his elven form, his throat seized up as his eyes took in the scene before him. Her bloody heart was suspended in the air in a globe of magic like an altar for him. _His_ heart. A strangled, choking noise escaped him as he reached forward, cupped his hands beneath it and as his fingers brushed the globe it disintegrated and it fell into his grasp. Her blood stained his skin as he stared at it, disbelieving and incapable of comprehending what had brought him through so much was now gone.

 

Moments later he recoiled, dropped her heart to the ground and stepped back, horrified and wounded at his red, bloodied hands and it was then that he noticed the trail of bloody footsteps that also stained the floor. In a half delirium, he followed the splatters on the ground through the corridors of his home until he found himself in his quarters. It was then that he saw Lavellan’s crumpled, broken body on the floor, her chest torn open and her hair matted in the pool of blood she laid in. Her skin, once so soft and beautiful, was coated crimson and he fell, helpless, to his knees beside her.

 

Shaking, his hand trailed over her body, her cold skin and gazed into her lifeless eyes. He had been a fool to think he could protect her. He had been living in a delirium, a false sense of security that Andruil’s hatred and his actions wouldn’t catch up to him eventually. It was in that moment, knelt beside her mauled body with his heart aching and bleeding, that he changed. It was then that he realised he couldn’t any more, that the others would never see with Mythal gone. And it was then that he pushed himself to his feet, took his orb and slipped out of his home. He changed that day because without his heart, there was nothing left in him but his pride and his fury at the injustice that plagued their people. He couldn’t watch in silence any more, he couldn’t make weak attempts to free the slaves while the others refused to budge in their opinions.

 

So he stalked every last one of the other gods down, sealed them away with his orb without even a flinch of hesitation. The twins he banished for their indifference, for their apathy that ruined so much even if they refused to see it. Elgar’nan he banished for his injustice, for a god who was meant to be vengeance but only wrought it for his own good. For her fire, he banished Sylaise, for every slave who had been burnt to death in her name, for every of her followers who wilfully withheld their healing because the price they were offered for it was insufficient. Ghilan’nain, for the vicious animals she created to torture and maul her slaves at Andruil’s side, she was banished. June, innocent, naive June, he banished him for his weak will, for bending to the demands of every other god and refusing to stand up against them. And Andruil herself, he banished her for his shattered heart, for he did not need more reason than Lavellan’s death to seal the huntress away.

 

Then, when he was finished, alone and abandoned in the world, he returned home. There, he cradled Lavellan’s cold, broken body in his arms for hours, his tears soaking her clothes until his grief ran dry and the only thing that remained was his loneliness. It was then that he shaved his hair, threw away the last remnants of what once had been and returned to his temple because anywhere was better than where her blood stained the floor in his home. And he sealed himself away. He slipped into the endless dream and left the people because he could not bear stay, not when he was the only one left, alone and broken in a world that had only ever shown him cruelty.

 

The beast changed that night with every one of his kind that he banished. It twisted and corrupted from his actions, its pure white fur blackened and its eyes, that once had been a clear blue, turned blood red. It changed to reflect his actions, for how he had betrayed the people and damned them but would never realise it while he slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so... just bear with me! I *am* continuing this into the Inquisition storyline - there's way more to go and more Solas/Lavellan before this story is finished! However, if you don't want to read about the Inquisition bit, you can just stop at the end of this chapter and consider that the end of the 'Arlathan' part of the story :) 
> 
> (Also, on a side note, I deliberately decided not to mention or tackle the whole 'Forgotten Ones' thing, because chances are I would just bugger it up. I'm also not going to specify why Fen'Harel/Solas woke up in the future, because again, I'd probably just get it wrong anyway)
> 
> Also also, art at the end of this chapter done by the amazing http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/ <3 <3


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so amazing! Thank you!
> 
> (Also after this chapter Fen'Harel/Solas shall be referred to as Solas the majority of the time, just a heads up!)
> 
> Cover art shown in this chapter (for the Inquisition part of the storyline) done by the lovely: http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/ <3

 

 

She’d never seen a place like it. It’s broken, time weathered walls and cracked floor broken by plants that tried to grow through the stone – it told her it was an ancient, sacred place. To what deity this temple had been dedicated to, she was unsure, but the more she walked through its halls and stared at the murals and paintings that were still intact, the more she began to wonder. She paused, trailed her hand along one of the images and her brow pulled into a frown at the white wolf she saw. Her companion was far less interested and paused where he stood ahead of her, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips.

 

“Vhenan, come,” he beckoned.

 

“I think...” she started as she tilted her head at the painting. “I think this is a temple to Fen’Harel.”

 

“Don’t be absurd.” She pulled away from the wall and followed him, her hands clasped around her curved wooden staff as she walked. “Who would come here to worship the Dread Wolf?”

 

He paused and turned to face her, a smile tugging at his lips as he reached out and cupped her cheek affectionately. He ran his thumb over her lips and stepped forward, his breath ghosting over her ear as he leant in and kissed her neck.

 

“And if it is a temple to our dear _friend_ Fen’Harel, perhaps we should honour him by defiling the very ground he would have us worship him on.”

 

She laughed as his breath teased and tickled at her sensitive skin and he glanced down at her. She caught his lips in a kiss as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him. Maybe it was lewd to be with him here, in an abandoned temple that might once have been sacred. But if it was dedicated to who she thought it was, then she couldn’t feel wrong about it, and they so rarely found time to be alone that she ached and longed for the chance to feel his hands gliding over her skin.

 

Later, when they were curled on the floor and exhausted, she slipped out of his warm embrace and wrapped her robes around her naked shoulders as she explored the rest of the temple. She stared at every mural and carving, inspected the collapsing walls and ceiling, and then she found herself in a large room that was empty. Except it wasn’t as bare as she first thought, because she could feel the magic in the air permeating through every inch of the space. She could feel someone else but she couldn’t see them and it made her curious, intrigued, so she stepped forward to try and make sense of it.

 

A jolt of magic burst from the air moments later and it crushed her to the floor, her staff flying from her hands and scattering across the stone. Her body shook and trembled under the weight of the spell and in her head she heard the pained, angry sounds of screaming. And then it was too much and she slipped into unconsciousness. When she next awoke she was back with her clan with her lover and Keeper hovering over her, and telling her, repeatedly, how they’d been so sure she wasn’t going to pull through. And they told her, as well, that the baby would survive.

 

She hadn’t even known she was pregnant.

 

\---

 

It was like someone ripped him violently from his dreams, yanking Fen’Harel from one world and into the next without any grace or dignity. His mind crashed, violently, into the living world and his ungraceful awakening combined with the length of time he’d slept left him dazed for minutes as his body slowly took shape in the mortal plane. The first thing he became keenly aware of was the cold, unforgiving hardness of the floor pressing against him. For centuries he had drifted without want for the harsh reality of being awake, and it felt foreign and bizarre to once more feel the solid ground beneath him.

 

He opened his eyes, gingerly, and squinted as the bright glare of day assaulted him. He was no longer accustomed to natural light and it took him minutes to adjust. When he did, he found that the daylight so viciously pounding down on him was glaring through huge cracks in his temple which he now realised was dilapidated and ruined. He pushed himself up onto his elbows with what strength he could manage, and cast his eyes around, only to find the tangle of roots and plants that were growing through the broken floors and walls of the room.

 

He felt exhausted, his strength gone and as if he couldn’t remember how to use his muscles because he’d spent so long gone from the waking world. Slowly, almost painfully, he pushed himself to his feet, tried to stand but his legs failed him and he staggered. He fell towards where his orb now laid on the ground, as untouched as the day he’d sealed everything away. It was there, curled on the floor, that he reached out for his orb, let his fingers trail over the surface and reached, carefully, for his magic to draw on the strength he had sequestered away in the artefact. But the orb, in its centuries of neglect, reacted violently and cast him aside for his attempts to open it.

 

Magic lashed out from the surface of the globe and smashed him into a broken wall, a pained hiss escaping Fen’Harel’s lips as his body wracked with pain. He pulled himself determinedly onto his knees, stole a glance around the room and it was then that his eyes settled on the staff abandoned on the floor nearby. His brow pulled into a frown because he did not recognise it and it wasn’t even the slightest weathered to time and he wondered who had left it there. But he needed it, he realised, not because he had ever required a staff to cast his magic that was so inherent and natural to him, but because his weakened body couldn’t support him.

 

So he reached for the staff, curled his long fingers around the wood and used it to help him stand. It would do while he regained his strength, he reasoned, as he staggered towards his orb and lifted it from the ground. It would do until he could find a way to open the artefact. But until then, he had to find out what this foreign, strange world was that he had woken up to.

 

\---

 

To say the world had changed was a gross understatement. The world had not simply changed, it had been mutilated and butchered beyond any kind of recognisable reality that he was familiar with. Humans now dominated everything in their wake and he couldn’t even identify a single elven city that had once existed. Their empire was gone. It was his fault; Fen’Harel readily accepted that, and he stuffed the guilt away to join with his anguish over what he had done to the other gods. Without being able to unlock the power of his orb, he was weak and little better than any of the other mortals, and so he wondered the land on foot trying to come to terms with this new environment.

 

He stumbled upon a human city eventually and that was when people begun to stare. He’d barely made it two steps into the city when a human brushed past him rudely and smashed into his shoulder in their haste. Fen’Harel scowled, parted his lips to chastise the man for his rudeness, when he was pushed out of the way from the other direction. He gaped, disbelieving; as another man sneered at him and called him what he could only assume was an elven slur. Their speech was a foreign language to him, harsh and guttural but he realised he’d have to learn it to make any vague attempt at fitting in.

 

Frustrated, he stalked through the city until he spotted another of his kind. He approached the elf who stared at him apprehensively as he moved to start a conversation.

 

“Perhaps you could assist me-” he began in elven, but the other elf’s features contorted into a stare that spoke as if Fen’Harel was a madman and he stopped. Then, the other elf babbled something in the same language the human had spoken and Fen’Harel’s mood fell as he realised the other man was a human in everything but name.

 

It was then that he pulled his gaze up and saw the part of the city he had walked into. He could only describe it as a slum, filled with poor, abused elves that didn’t have a shred of their history or culture. It was then that he realised the gravity of what had happened during his sleep.

 

\---

 

He was chased out of that city because the humans seemed to consider the fact he was a mage to be blasphemous and they kept trying to arrest him. He evaded them with ease, though he also decided to invest in some new clothes which didn’t blatantly paint him as a magic user like his robes did. He picked up enough of the human’s language from looking through the memories that permeated in their cities to be able to be able to hold a conversation in their tongue. From the downtrodden elves in the cities, he managed to learn that certain sects of the people existed outside of the slums they called ‘alienages’, and that these elves called themselves dalish. It was these people that Fen’Harel made to find and he did, eventually, stumbling across them in a forest. He had not been sure what to expect, but even if he had known more than passing rumour of the dalish, he’d have been fairly certain he still wouldn’t have expected what he found. What he had found was a single elven man, dressed in hunter’s leathers and whose face was adorned in Andruils’ markings.

 

Fen’Harel raised his hands to show he meant peace, and started, gently, “Aneth ara-”

 

“Who are you that a barefaced speaks the ancient language so well?” the other man interrupted in the same language the humans had used, and his bow refused to stop pointing worryingly at Fen’Harel’s chest. The god paused, a frown gracing his features as he tried to grasp a handle on the situation.

 

“I...” He started in the common tongue, before eventually adding with narrowed eyes, “Who are you that wear the marks of slavery even after they are freed?”

 

The hunter paused, confused, until he presumably realised that Fen’Harel was staring at the markings on his face. In a split second, the other man’s features twisted into anger and rage as he replied, “The vallaslin are markings of honour.”

 

“That is certainly a unique way of describing them,” Fen’Harel replied dryly and the hunter’s expression turned, somehow, even more vile and furious. He was spared having to defend himself from the other man’s arrows when another, female hunter with the same vile brands, joined them.

 

“Lethallin,” she addressed the other hunter, “Who is this flat ear?”

 

“I do not know, but he speaks our language with a grace that rivals the Keeper.”

 

For a moment, Fen’Harel was subjected to the scrutiny and distrustful gazes of both the marked elves, and he sighed, exasperated, as the woman declared that they would be taking him back to their camp. He obliged, if only to find out more about this weak excuse of the people he’d found, and sometime later, he was standing before what he could only describe as an important looking, elderly woman, who he assumed was the one who was leading the rest of this ‘clan.’

 

“My hunters tell me you speak well for a bareface,” she started as she narrowed her eyes at him in scrutiny. “Tell me, why is that?”

 

“Perhaps you could first tell me why you act as if the slave markings on your face are a symbol of honour,” he replied simply, and he held his posture tall and proud because he was far broader and better built than these elves, and he would have them know it.

 

“The vallaslin honour our gods, you ignorant child!” she spat angrily. “They show of our faith in them even in the darkness that the Dread Wolf wrought!”

 

His fine eyebrows pulled into the faintest of frowns as he queried, softly, “The Dread Wolf?”

 

“Yes, Fen’Harel, he who sealed away his kin and left the people forsaken. Surely even a flat ear would know of the stories?

 

He stared at her for a long moment in utter disbelief at how ignorant she was. Then, very carefully, he muttered through gritted teeth, “You blame Fen’Harel for your misfortune?”

 

“He is the one deserving of the blame,” she replied as if the answer was obvious. When he did not reply and simply glowered at her, she continued, frustrated. “Who are you?”

 

“No one of importance.” It came out as barely more than a hiss, because he realised in that moment that these elves in the forests were almost worse than the ones in the city.

 

They clung to fractured remnants of their past and twisted them from the truth. They painted their faces with slave markings that they called vallaslin and they did it because they thought it was honouring their gods. And the gods, themselves, they _worshipped_ as if none of the injustices that Elgar’nan or the others had inflicted on them ever mattered.

 

But by far the worst part of any of it was that they blamed _him_ for their atrocious fall from grace. They told their children stories of how the Dread Wolf had caused their hardships when he sealed away the gods for his own selfish, twisted reasons. They made him into a monster, took his name in vain and paid tribute to the ones who had once enslaved them. It was that realisation that made Fen’Harel lose hope in the people and realise that somehow, no matter what it took, he needed the power in his orb to fix the mess he’d started.

 

And it was then that he shed the name Fen’Harel that the dalish loathed and despised so much and took a new one. He chose Solas because his pride was the only part of him remaining that was worth honouring.

 

For the next two and a half decades, he explored and attempted to come to terms with the new world around him and to find a way to fix it. For the mortals he was now surrounded with, it would have been the better part of their lives wasted, but for him, it was but a fraction of eternity spent searching.  Through the years his orb remained stubbornly defiant to his attempts to open it, and eventually he became distraught until he found someone who could help him unlock the power he so desperately needed. And through it all, through every night and moment that he slept, he never forgot Lavellan and he was tortured, endlessly, by his memories of her broken, bleeding body.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit of a struggle so... thank you greatly to everyone who helped beta read it (there were lots of you, and you all know who you are <3) 
> 
> Also thank you to all you readers as well, and I apologise if anything seems off in this chapter I've tried my best to fix it but after much figurative head-desk-bashing I decided I just need to post it hah
> 
> Also this chapter is dedicated to scarletr0settv.tumblr.com (Trust her, even if she's not a mage.)  
> Also also, finally, I'll be trying to use as little of the in-game dialogue as possible, simply just because I'm sure you guys have all heard it before (sometimes I will use in-game dialogue but I'll try not to make it giant paragraphs of it if I can!)

In hindsight, Solas should have learnt long ago to stop trying to fix other people’s problems, because he had an alarming tendency to only make the situation worse. The gaping, green whole in the sky and his stolen orb, in particular, were a prime example of his bad decisions. He really didn’t know why he bothered trying sometimes and he did feel guilty for what he had done. But, for all the damage his mistakes had wrought him, he vowed to try and fix his mess, and it was for that reason that he sought out the only ones trying to stop the breach from growing and offered his assistance.

 

And the woman in charge, this Cassandra, he was not sure what to make of her, and he highly suspected she did not know what to make of him either. He’d turned up, offered to help and she’d stared at him for a long moment as if she couldn’t quite comprehend how an apostate would willingly walk in and lend their services. She looked at him as if he was mad and he almost wondered if he was, and then, very cautiously, she’d agreed to his help. It was then that Solas found himself following the seeker through a corridor and towards a dungeon.

 

“We found her unconscious beside the breach,” Cassandra told him as she led him through the hallway. Over the clinking sound of chains and crackling braziers, he could hear someone whimpering and he felt, not for the first time, guilty for what he had happened.

 

“We don’t know anything about her, not even her name, other than she was the only survivor,” the seeker continued as she came to a stop before an elven woman manacled and unconscious on the floor of the dungeon.

 

And he froze, his muscles seized and his legs refused to move him as his eyes raked over her body. He knew her name; it was the one he could never forget, the one that haunted him at night because he’d lost her. It couldn’t have been her, and yet every line of her features told him it was. He staggered backwards because he couldn’t come to terms with it, covered his mouth with the back of his hand and only composed himself when Cassandra glanced at him and murmured, suspiciously, “Is something the matter, mage?”

 

“No,” he replied hoarsely and he had to pull his gaze away from the prisoner so that he could manage to form a coherent sentence. “I am fine.”

 

He cautioned a look a back at the woman on the ground and found the glowing, festering magic encasing her hand and he lunged on the idea of it like a scapegoat to deflect the seeker’s prying.

 

“That... mark on her hand, it is unnerving my senses, but I will manage,” he said through gritted teeth as he forced himself to stare at the prisoner. Cassandra frowned, but then barked some orders at the guards dotted around the room. She told them to keep an eye on him but to allow him the room he needed to work, and then she was gone and Solas was free to slowly, gingerly, approach the woman on the ground.

 

He knelt beside her, hesitantly allowed his fingers to trail over her forehead and followed the curve of her tattoos that once again were covering her face. Part of him told himself it couldn’t be her, that it didn’t make sense but his eyes did not lie. Without Mythal’s vallaslin, as the dalish called it, she would have looked like a perfect reflection of how she’d been that morning of the day he lost her. Apart from her hair, he noted, which had lost its previous copper brown colour and was now a stark, pure white. It was so much like the wolf’s fur had once been, and he wasn’t sure if that bode well.

 

He had to know if it was truly her. He had to understand before it drove him mad because he’d watched her die, he’d held Lavellan in his arms and cradled her cold body and to see her now and to wonder... It was for that reason that he pressed his hand against her forehead and forced himself into her dreams and memories. What he found almost made him wish he hadn’t.

 

She was Lavellan, he would have recognised her spirit anywhere, and he saw how she’d died at Andruil’s hand, how she’d reached out to his orb with the last of her strength and how the magic within had pulled part of her into the globe and locked her away. The scene hurt and twisted his heart as he relived finding her broken body once more. But he pushed on past the pain, and he saw how when he had been dragged back into the mortal world, his orb had also released Lavellan’s spirit, which had latched onto the only thing it could, and that had been a dalish woman, barely pregnant, who had in happenstance been at his temple at the time. It filled him with hope that his lover might be returned to him, but as he pushed deeper, it faded quickly.

 

He saw how, while he had been exploring the world for the last two and a half decades, the woman from his temple had raised Lavellan as her own child amongst the dalish, completely unaware that anything was amiss. His lover had come back from the dead, by some twist of fate that should never have been and yet it had still happened.

 

But by far the worst part he saw that day was that Lavellan didn’t remember a thing of who she was or what her life had been in Arlathan. Everything was there, but somewhere between being locked in his orb and being released once more, all her memories had been suppressed. His lover was oblivious, convinced she was the dalish woman her clan had raised her to be and he, Fen’Harel, was less than nothing to her. He was the monster she’d been raised to believe was the reason for the elves hardship.

 

She _hated_ him.

 

\---

 

“Hey!” his dwarven companion shouted. “Watch where you shoot that lightning!”

 

“Trust me, Varric,” Solas replied with a chuckle. “I’m a mage.”

 

The dwarf scoffed as they finished off the demon they’d been attacking. Then, in the pause it earned them, Varric turned to him and posed another question.

 

“So, let me get this straight,” the dwarf beside him started in a drawl as he loaded his crossbow, “You show up here, offer your help with the breach and spend the next few weeks trying to keep that prisoner alive for... what reason, exactly? The goodness of your own heart?”

 

“Is that such rare thing to come by these days?” Solas countered as he joined Varric in fighting off the group of demons that had started spilling out of the Fade rift again.

 

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Varric loosed one of his crossbow bolts into a nearby demon, sending it flying from the force of the impact. “If you start talking about mirrors and blood magic, I’m done.”

 

“Mirrors and blood magic?” he mused as he poured strength into his barrier that he enveloped the both of them in.

 

“It’s a long story, filled mostly with lots of crazy,” the dwarf grumbled but their conversation was cut off by a flare of magic from the Fade rift that brought with it a new wave of demons. Varric swore a string of curses, firing his crossbow at them as Solas attempted to maintain his barrier and freeze them with his magic. Fighting like this, having to use a staff to supplement his abilities, it frustrated him because he knew he should have been able to destroy their enemies with a flick of his wrist if he was at his full strength.

 

They were slowly being overwhelmed and a screeching, angry demon broke up through the ground behind Solas in the split second his barrier started to falter. He fumbled for his magic to try and defend himself, but he needn’t have bothered because a burst of lightning staggered the demon and sent it shrinking away. He turned, surprised, and found himself staring at the woman he loved so much, and yet he had to remind himself it wasn’t really her. When Lavellan frowned at him for gazing at her so intently, he had to remind himself that this woman didn’t know who he was and that staring at her as if he had, quite literally, seen her naked, probably wasn’t the best idea. Particularly when there were demons spewing every which way out of the Fade rift.

 

When they’d managed to defeat the current wave of demons, he turned to Lavellan and reached for her hand. He’d been trying to close the rifts by himself ever since he’d stabilized her mark, but he’d been unsuccessful and it had gotten to the point now that his only viable option left was that the mark glowing around her fingers might possibly pose a chance at closing the rift.

 

“Quickly,” he started urgently as he grabbed Lavellan’s wrist, and she startled and tried to jerk away from him in her surprise, “Before more come through.”

 

He yanked her hand towards the rift. The mark glowed and reacted with the break in the veil and it closed, violently, sending the both of them flying with the uncontrolled force of released magic. Solas grunted, picked himself up off the ground and, cautiously, gazed at her. She was grasping her faintly glowing hand, her eyes widened in disbelief and then she tore her gaze up to him and stared. He shuffled awkwardly under her attention because he knew to her he was nothing but a stranger. It did not help that he had once seen every inch of her body, laved attention on it and ran his tongue over her curve of her skin.

 

“What did you do?” she asked eventually as she pulled herself to her feet. So help him, but it felt... obscene that he could talk to someone who barely knew him and yet know exactly what would make her scream for him.

 

He shrugged casually and let a smile tug at his lips. “I did nothing, the credit is all yours.”

 

He watched as Lavellan spoke with the others, as Varric explained how he’d saved her life and she _smiled_ at him. She smiled and _thanked_ him for what he’d done. Solas had not been expecting it so he stared, idiotically, at her, and then brushed her off with a casual comment about how it was nothing. When the others left to continue further into the valley, he paused and gazed at her because it unnerved him how similar she was, even after everything that had happened.

 

“Might want to be careful how you stare at someone you’ve just met,” Varric added with a chuckle and he frowned at him for a moment because it took him a while to remember again that it would be inappropriate to stare. “People might get ideas.”

 

“She... reminds me of someone I once knew,” he muttered but the dwarf was already following Cassandra and he wondered if Varric even heard him.

 

\---

 

"You wear the markings of Mythal,” Solas pointed out as he trudged through the snow behind Lavellan and Cassandra on their way to the forward camp. Lavellan paused at his comment, glanced at him over her shoulder for a moment and then slowed down until he was walking beside her.

 

“What would you know of the vallaslin?” she asked with a careful, almost suspicious, look.

 

“A great deal. I have seen much in my travels.”

 

Her eyes narrowed at him as his feet found the cold hard rock of steps set into the ground and begun to climb them.

 

“I wear Mythal’s markings with pride,” Lavellan continued and he wondered if the defensive tone in her voice was his imagination or part of the truth begging to be let out however deep down she’d suppressed it. “She was our guardian, our great protector.”

 

“True.” She was correct, although he neglected to tell her that she missed the crucial detail of how Mythal had been remarkably mischievous and cunning as well.

 

“You agree with me?” The suspicious look on her features only intensified at his affirmation, which he thought was unfair that she should only doubt him more when he wasn’t even arguing with her. “Yet you keep staring at my face as if the vallaslin is a wretched, vile thing.”

 

“I simply do not have the same faith in your gods as you do,” he replied with a shrug as he dug his staff into the ground with each step to help him up the steep incline they were traversing.

 

“Why not? They are your gods too.” Now her features were twisting into confusion and bewilderment as if she truly couldn’t understand how he wouldn’t follow the pantheon.

 

“I only put faith in myself.” He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly to betray the anger he was trying to hide. “Worshipping others, no matter how powerful they are – it is the sort of thing that leads empires to ruin.”

 

“Well aren’t you just a bright little ray of sunshine today,” Varric drawled and it drew a scowl from Solas’ features momentarily. Lavellan’s eyes narrowed at him, and he swallowed thickly as he realised, quickly, he’d been too defensive and bitter in his words.

 

“You make it sound as if something personally happened to you,” she pointed out and he needed to deflect her suspicion, fast, before he said something he couldn’t pull himself out of.

 

“Memories happened; they were no more personal than anything else I have seen in the Fade.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment and he fidgeted under her gaze. Then, finally, she shrugged and continued on their path in silence. He realised then that he would have to be more careful in the future. Even as much as he longed to grab her by the shoulders and tell her the truth about who they both where, he knew she would never believe him, and without his orb, he didn’t have the power to restore her memories which only left him the options of telling her the truth and hoping she’d take his word for it, or spinning a web of deceit. He chose the latter because he knew the former would never work.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always... thank you so much for the support :)

Solas slipped into the room where she slept against his better judgement. There was no reason for him to be there. He gave Cassandra the excuse that he wanted to check on Lavellan’s mark one last time to make sure it hadn’t changed since they sealed the large Fade rift and returned to Haven, but it was simply that. An excuse to see her.

 

He approached Lavellan slowly because he still couldn’t quite comprehend it was her. Then, he sat by her on the bed and gazed at her for a long moment, his brow tugging into a pensive frown. It was strange to him, to see her in his life again and still love her not a fraction less than when she had been taken from him. And yet she didn’t even know who he was. He supposed he should be thankful she’d even been returned to him at all, but the way she stared at him as if he was a stranger broke and twisted his heart because it was as if nothing they’d ever shared mattered. As if it was irrelevant because she didn’t remember. She still entranced him, the very sight of her made him long to reach out and touch her, pull her into his arms and feel once again what her soft skin felt like and breath in her scent. But it wouldn’t be appropriate, and yet he still leant forward towards her on the bed.

 

He trailed his fingers along the side of her face, traced her vallaslin and finally let his hand come to a rest against her jaw. She barely moved in her sleep, and it lulled him into a sense of security as he bent down closer to her. The tip of his nose brushed against hers as he angled his head and fleetingly let his lips trail over hers. It was wrong, he knew that quite well, but he’d spent centuries believing she was dead and he couldn’t stop himself kissing her ever so gently. But as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away and his timing was impeccable because a servant elf stumbled, quite noisily, into the room a split second later. The servant stuttered incoherently and he tried to smile reassuringly as he stood up.

 

“Cassandra merely wished that I ensure her mark is stable,” he told the servant as he moved to leave. She mumbled something he couldn’t comprehend and he paused at the door to glance back once more at Lavellan.

 

Her eyes were fluttering awake at the commotion from the servant girl, her nose wrinkling as she squinted into the bright daylight. Lavellan’s gaze flickered to him for a moment, thin brows pulling into a frown as he hesitated by the door. He wondered, for a moment, if he’d been caught, if she knew how inappropriate he’d been or if even... some part of her remembered. But as she turned away and focused her attention on the servant girl his heart sank and he slipped outside. He decided that morning that he would shove his feelings and his longings deep down because he couldn’t act on them while he was nothing to her. And he far preferred trying to ignore his anguish than acknowledge its existence.

 

His folly was that every time he looked at her it wrenched back up his feelings no matter how much he tried to stop them. But he would endure. As he always had.

 

\---

 

When he saw her next it was after Cassandra and the other advisors had their way briefing Lavellan about what their course of action was.  When Lavellan found him, Solas was in the little shack in Haven he had claimed as his own, lying on his bed and with his eyes closed as he had just begun to try and slip into the Fade. The door banging open yanked him from his half meditative state and he pulled himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed just as she stepped into the doorway.

 

“Oh.” Lavellan fidgeted awkwardly for a moment. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“Nothing I cannot attend to later,” Solas replied with a shrug. She frowned at him. Then, her gaze flickered to his groin and he flushed red as he guessed at what she was presuming. “And you are definitely interrupting something like _that_. I was attempting to dream.”

 

Why her mind would even jump to that conclusion was beyond him, but then he remembered how mischievous she’d been before and he guessed that had to be the reason for it.

 

“I see, ah,” she started brokenly for a moment, “Solas, right?”

 

“That is correct.” He reached up and scratched the back of his smooth head as he spoke. It still caught him by surprise from time to time that his once thick bundle of dreadlocks were gone, even if he’d wilfully shaved his head he’d had hair for so many centuries that it took a bit to get used to lacking it.

 

“Cassandra mentioned you’re our resident Fade expert.” She’d crossed the room in a few long strides and sat herself down on the end of his bed, crossed her legs and gazed up at him expectantly.

 

He tilted his head at her and shifted a bit away because he didn’t trust himself around her when she was that close. Not that he’d ever force himself upon her, but how he wished he could reach out and tuck one of her errant locks of white hair behind her ear.

 

“I am,” he replied eventually. Her violet eyes brightened and her features twisted to a hopeful, expectant look.

 

“Teach me.” He must have stared at her rather idiotically, because she added quickly, “Tell me what I need to know so I can close the rifts properly.”

 

He gazed at her for a long moment and it wasn’t because her proposal was difficult for him to process. It was far more that he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her no matter how much he wanted. Eventually, he shrugged and said, “Very well, Herald.”

 

She scoffed, her features scrunching up at the title. “Please don’t call me that.”

 

“What would you prefer?” he replied with the softest of chuckles at her expression.

 

“Kiriel.”

 

He frowned. “Is that your given name? That seems... personal.”

 

“Then call me by my clan name, Lavellan. Just anything that isn’t _Herald of Andraste_.”

 

His lips tugged into the smallest of grins at her request. It was curious that the elves of these days used Lavellan as the name for their clan when in Arlathan it had been a reasonably common given name, but he would look into that later in his dreams.

 

“As you wish, _Lavellan_ ,” he replied pointedly. To him, she would always be simply Lavellan, regardless of what the rest of her clan called her.

 

\---

 

He insisted that she let him teach her in the main building in Haven both because having a large table was preferable for the amount of texts and papers he was scribbling on, and because he didn’t want others to talk, and he knew they would at the slightest inclination, humans had the most irritating tendency to gossip at everything. Solas taught her everything he deemed relevant to closing the Fade rifts, and she listened intently for the most part. Hours later he had exhausted everything he could think of and leant back in his chair. The table was covered in paper and ink.

 

“That is all I can think of that would be useful to you,” Solas started with a small yawn.

 

Lavellan glanced up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

 

He inclined his head respectfully. “You are welcome.”

 

“Where did you learn all this?”

 

He hesitated as he tried to remember what the going alibi was that he’d concocted for his knowledge, because _I am secretly an ancient elven god_ wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he’d told Cassandra or her Spymaster when they’d asked him about his abilities.

 

“I taught myself,” he told her eventually. It wasn’t really a lie. “I explored dreams, memories and the Fade for years.” The only untruth was that he failed to specify just how many years it had really been.

 

She tilted her head at him. “Would you teach me more?”

 

He paused, intrigued at why she would ask that. “What for?”

 

“Because I am curious and I want to learn,” she replied simply. “And I am gone from my Keeper.”

 

“I will not be your surrogate Keeper,” he snapped harsher than he’d intended. When he noted her surprised, affronted look he grimaced and added, gently, “But I will teach you if you are interested.”

 

 “You will make me your student, then?” she teased.

 

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly, because the idea of becoming her tutor while he had once been her lover was disturbing at best.

 

“I... see.” Lavellan frowned at him.

 

“Forgive me but it would not do for you to be seen as my apprentice, it would undermine your authority,” he recovered smoothly and she nodded in recognition, to his relief. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Lavellan glanced up. He followed her gaze to where Cassandra was beckoning her at the door to the war room.

 

With a slight sigh, Lavellan pushed herself out of her chair. “Thank you for your help.”

 

“It is no bother.”

 

Lavellan hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing as she stared at him and pursed her lips. Then, her eyes narrowed and he returned the gesture, holding her gaze steadily as he tried to read her expression. “This is going to sound insane,” she started eventually, “But I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

 

So help him if his heart didn’t jump and flutter at her words, but he kept his expression neutral and calm. “Do you now?”

 

“Yes, but...” She shrugged and laughed ever so lightly. “That’s ridiculous; I’ve never met you before in my life.”

 

And with that, she turned away and made to approach Cassandra. Truly Lavellan would never know how deep her words really cut him.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the amazing support! (Also much thank you to Kreebby for helping beta read this chapter)
> 
> Also, a lovely amazing friend slavetothemocha has drawn a picture for a scene in the last chapter <3 it can be found here: http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/post/107766157763/for-brelakor-3-a-scene-from-the-latest-chapter and it's seriously amazing :)

“Have you always had white hair?” Solas started, casually, as he followed Lavellan through the Hinterlands.

 

“All my life,” she replied and glanced at him, momentarily, before returning her gaze to the path ahead of her. He was quite certain now that the colour of her hair and it’s similarity with what the wolf’s fur had once been was not a coincidence. If he had to hazard a guess, her entrapment in his orb had more of an effect that just suppressing her memories. Not that he minded the new colour of her locks, it was beautiful when it caught the sunlight, but it made her stand out like a sore thumb everywhere she went.

 

“Have you always been bald?” she countered with a small laugh and it drew him from his thoughts.

 

“No.” He reached towards his head and ran a hand over his smooth skin as he said it, and he wondered for a moment if she wouldn’t find him attractive any more without his hair. Then he reminded himself to stop thinking about things like that and shoved the thought away.

 

“Why shave your hair then?” Lavellan asked. “Or was it a spell gone wrong?”

 

“I- what?” He frowned at her and she chuckled. “It was no spell gone wrong. It is simply easier to not have to deal with a tangle of hair when you spend months exploring ruins.”

 

It was a half truth. It was far easier to manage than the thick bundle of locks he’d once had, but he’d also shaved it off because he wanted to shed his past and what he’d done. Their conversation faltered after that into silence and he continued to follow her with Cassandra and Varric. Where they were going he didn’t have a clue, but he liked to think Lavellan had some kind of idea of what she was doing. It was certainly preferable to the alternative that she was actually just dragging them around the Hinterlands with no concept of where she was going or what she was trying to accomplish. When they reached a steep incline and started climbing it, Solas glanced up and immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

The angle of the hill and the fact Lavellan was right ahead of him gave him a... shameful view of her behind. He swallowed thickly and tried to tear his gaze away but his body refused to obey him, completely entranced by the view he was receiving and how much he’d been longing for Lavellan and trying to hide it. His staring was evidently becoming ridiculous, because Varric coughed very loudly and he had to physically move his head to tear his eyes from Lavellan.

 

The dwarf chuckled. “Getting a bit of an eyeful there, were you?”

 

Solas flushed so red he swore he’d kill Varric when Lavellan and Cassandra turned around at the commotion. Lavellan frowned at the pair of them. Cassandra merely made a noise that could only be described as disgusted.

 

\---

 

By that evening Solas was fairly certain Lavellan had absolutely no idea where she was going and was just making everything up as she went along. They’d been wondering in circles for the better part of the day, and with each passing hour, Cassandra became more and more disgruntled until eventually the seeker demanded that they make camp for the evening and inspect their maps. Lavellan disappeared for some time to bathe in a nearby stream, and when she returned and started threading her fingers through her hair, Solas approached and sat with her by the fire.

 

“A moment of your time?” he asked, politely.

 

She nodded her assent and he reached, gingerly, for her marked hand.

 

“May I?”

 

“Of course.”

 

He took her hand in his own, his fingers brushing along her arm as he pulled it away and into his grasp. He gazed, silently, for several moments at her palm, traced the curve and lines of her skin as he poured the faintest trickle of magic into her mark to try and study it. It did not take him long to draw the conclusion that it would stay stable now, and yet he didn’t release her hand as he asked, quietly, “Does it bother you?”

 

“It feels... strange,” Lavellan replied. “It hurts, but not as much as it used to. I just want to know what caused it.”

 

He had an idea although he couldn’t be certain, and even if he was he wasn’t going to tell her because it would only open up more questions to which the answers weren’t something he could divulge. What he felt radiating from her hand was like a fraction of what his orb had been and when he closed his eyes and concentrated on it, it was intoxicating. It made him heady and desperate because even while it was only a shade of the power he’d once had, it was the closest he’d been to having it again since he woke from his slumber. It entranced him so much that he didn’t even realise he was pressing his forehead into her palm to be closer to the mark until Lavellan fidgeted a little.

 

Embarrassed, he straightened himself and let her go. “I am curious at what caused the breach. Such power...” he paused as he considered how to phrase how much he needed his orb back without letting her realise it. “It should not be lost or destroyed.”

 

“Closing the breach is our first priority,” Lavellan said. “But I won’t begrudge you if you can _safely_ recover whatever caused it.”

 

“I would appreciate the chance to try.”

 

Silent stretched between them for a long moment and, in that time, the bickering between Cassandra and Varric nearby started to become louder and impossible to ignore. Eventually Lavellan glanced at Solas and asked, “Do they always do that?”

 

“In my limited experience that seems to be their default way of interacting with one another.”

 

She laughed then and he was smiling before he realised what was happening. Quickly, though, he calmed himself and cleared his throat. “While we are in the Hinterlands, might we look into an artefact I sensed while dreaming some nights ago?”

 

“What kind of artefact?” she replied as she started once more to comb through her tangled wet hair.

 

“An... elven one. I believe it would help strengthen the veil and prevent future Fade rifts from occurring.” He was careful with his words. Nothing he said was truly a lie, but whether he omitted crucial details and truths was another matter entirely. The artefact he had seen _would_ benefit the Inquisition, and that was all that should have concerned her.

 

“If it will help, sure.”

 

He smiled thinly. “Thank you.”

 

Lavellan yawned after a moment and pushed herself to her feet, bid him goodnight and made for her tent. The thought of her retiring reminded him of the sleepless nights he’d seen her toss and turn and suffer through while she was still a prisoner and at the mercy of the mark. He called for her without consideration for what he was doing, and she paused at the entrance of her tent to humour him.

 

“Do you sleep well?” She frowned at him and he added, quickly, “You did not while you were a prisoner and I watched over you.”

 

“I have strange dreams, though they are not nightmares,” she said, her white eyebrows furrowing further. “But I never remember any of it other than the eyes.”

 

He paled and swallowed thickly. “The eyes?”

 

“There are always six of them and they’re a pure, crystal clear blue.” Her eyes narrowed at him as she swept them over his features. “They remind me of yours.”

 

“A... coincidence, I am sure,” Solas deflected calmly.

 

“Yes.” Her lips curled into a small smile and when she added, “But they are beautiful,” he flushed with heat and he wondered, hoped even, if she meant it about him.

 

\---

 

The next morning she allowed him to lead her to where he’d sensed the artefact. When they arrived they found another dalish elf who insisted on helping them find the relic. The woman, Mihris, was pleasant to Lavellan, indifferent to Cassandra and Varric, and outright hostile to Solas. She glowered and insulted him when they came to the entrance of the ruin with its doorway caved in. Perhaps she was trying to save face because she wasn’t strong enough to remove the debris with her own magic, but it hardly justified calling him a flat-ear and demanding he do it. He obliged, but not without whispering dryly in perfect elven as he did so. His pronunciation and elegance with the tongue seemed to shock her, and only made her glare at him far worse as they entered the ruin.

 

Lavellan herself frowned at the pair of them, her fine features tugged into confusion at their hostility. But, as they continued, she stayed silent. Then they reached the central chamber and Solas approached the artefact and activated it. It shone with the familiar ethereal green glow of the Fade, and it was then that Mihris crouched down to the ground and picked something up.

 

“There,” Solas started quietly, “That will help strengthen the veil here and prevent further tears.”

 

“Excellent,” Mihris interjected although he strongly suspected she wasn’t praising his skill. As he turned to face his companions, he noted as she stood that she had a small relic in her hands. “And it appears the ancestors have left something for me.”

 

He highly doubted that was the case. The relic she held in her hands, it was his from the ancient times. She was unworthy of it for the sheer fact she didn’t recognise the inscription written on the front that blatantly identified it as belonging to Fen’Harel. And Solas needed it because a fraction of his power, albeit not even close to what was locked in his orb, was in that small artefact and any strength he could draw, no matter how tiny, he had to take.

 

“I require that relic,” he started carefully before reminding himself it would be at least be polite to add, “Please.”

 

“What would _you_ be able to use it for, bare-face?” was Mihris’ snarky reply.

 

“Far more than you would, _da’len_.” He emphasised it on purpose because he meant it like an slur. She sneered at him, furious as her fingers curled tightly around the artefact.

 

“Do not insult me, shemlen.”

 

“You do not know of who you speak to,” he snapped. “You dalish – you are like children playing with daggers! You know nothing of what it is to be elven.”

 

Mihris snarled at him but he held her gaze, towered over her and she folded after a moment, stuffed the artefact into his hand and stalked away. The tension flooding his body dissipated when he felt the relic against his palm but then he his pale blue eyes flickered to his companions, and finally to Lavellan, and he realised it was a hollow victory.

 

For all their conversation since they’d been reunited, for all the tenuous friendship he’d cultivated with her, he’d shattered it with one angry outburst. She stared at him beyond hurt for the disdain he’d shown to her people and her disappointment was like a dagger twisting inside of him. In one split second he’d let his anger get the better of him, and he’d ruined everything.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again much thanks for all the beautiful support from everyone!
> 
> Another amazing person has drawn fanart for this story, if you're interested it can be found here! http://hannibal-not-a-cannibal.tumblr.com/post/107845797541/im-so-in-love-with-the-fic-crystal-white-by

He shouldn’t have argued with that other dalish elf so openly and hotly, because Lavellan found him soon after they returned to Haven and she did not look especially pleased. Solas pulled away from where he leant against the stone wall that ran outside his shack and faced her as she spoke.

 

“I would be interested in hearing your opinion of the elves.”

 

Her words where punctuated through gritted teeth and he frowned at her because it would never feel right that she acted as if she was one of the dalish. It would never stop being wrong to him that she had lived and breathed in Arlathan, had walked on crystal spires and twisted the Fade, and now she painted her features proudly with her vile _vallaslin_ and repulsed his as the god of trickery. It irritated him at the best of times, and it was for that reason that he replied with a snide sarcasm dripping from his lips.

  
“I _thought_ you would be more interested in sharing your opinions on them. You are dalish, are you not?”

 

“I am the last of the true elves who did not submit to the humans,” she replied hotly.

 

He raised a single, curved eyebrow at her. It was impossible for him stop the laugh that slipped from his lips and he knew she wouldn’t understand why he found it funny, but to him, it was too ironic to hear those words coming from her.

 

“Ah, so the dalish remembered something correctly?” he murmured dryly. “How _remarkable_. Perhaps we should plant a tree.”

 

“You insult my people.” She actually _snarled_ at him. And stepped closer, her muscles tensing so much he half wondered if she might attack him. He narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down in her hostility.

 

“They insult themselves,” he muttered.

 

Her lips pulled into a sneer. “What have they done to you to make you hate them so?”

 

“Nothing you would understand,” he replied carefully. “History would take offense at their inability to remember _anything_ accurately.”

 

“Then why not teach them the truth, or do you despise them too much to care trying?” Her eyes flashed with the familiar stubbornness he remembered so well.

 

“Because they do not listen.” He paused and sighed because he did not like to argue with her while she was so blind, particularly not when she knew better even if she could not remember. “And I do not hate them any more than I hate a child fumbling in their ignorance.”

 

“You’re nothing more than an arrogant, conceited bastard,” she snapped.

 

“And _you_ are nothing more than a fool.”

 

He shouldn’t have said it, he realised that the split second she took in his words and her features twisted into hurt. He moved to apologise, to beg her forgiveness because he would never mean to harm her, but she was already glowering at him and storming away before he had the chance to try and fix his mistake. An angry, frustrated curse fell from his lips at his idiocy, because this was not how it was meant to happen. Not that he’d had a plan to begin with for dealing with his reincarnated, amnesiac lover, but if there had been a plan, it wouldn’t have involved making her loathe him.

 

\---

 

When night fell later he slipped outside into the cool air, made his way out of Haven’s gates and sat on the edge of one of the small rocky hills that overlooked the frozen lake. He watched the night sky not because he was interested in the constellations or the beauty of the stars, but because he needed the quiet and all he could hear from his shack was the drunken antics from the tavern and it was distracting. Solas stared for hours into nothingness as he thought and mulled over his actions and his feelings, and he was only eventually distracted by her lilting voice gracing his ears.

 

“Thinking about how wrong the dalish are about the stars now, are you?”

 

His brow pulled into a frown and he glanced down at Lavellan from the rocky ledge he sat on. She was standing on the frozen lake, staring up at him with a single eyebrow arched. Yet her features had lost the previous anger she had directed at him and now gave him only a teasing, rueful, if warning, expression.

 

“Perhaps, although I wouldn’t dare try and explain it to a First so deeply ingrained in her beliefs as you,” he replied in a gentle taunt and she scoffed at him ever so slightly and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“What is it that you have against my people?”

 

“It is... irrelevant.” He offered her a soft smile to try and show her that he couldn’t do this with her again. “A pointless argument that would get us nowhere and takes us only in circles.”

 

She stared at him for a long, careful moment and he pulled his eyes from hers because the look she gave him threatened to undo his carefully maintained facade. “Why are you here?”

 

“The same reason you are, I suspect,” he deflected, “To stop the breach.”

 

“I am here because circumstance has left me with no alternative; you have no real obligation to be here.”

 

He allowed his gaze to flicker to her violet eyes for a moment as he said, carefully, “My well meaning intentions are not enough of a reason?”

 

“ _If_ that is your reason.” She phrased it so that the suspicion and distrust in her voice was painfully obvious and he scowled for her doubt as he continued.

 

“Why do you hound me with these questions?” His voice was irritated and wavering in patience from her prodding and distrust over his intentions. “Why can you not accept that I am here because I wish to help?”

 

“You’re an elven mage, not from the dalish and not from a circle, an apostate who risked his freedom to help the Inquisition for no reason I can identify other than from the kindness of his own heart.” She paused and fixed him with a pointed look. “You will forgive me, then, if your motivations do not seem the slightest suspicious to me.”

 

“And I am becoming even less inclined to assist you with each passing moment under your scrutiny,” he muttered dryly and to his surprise, her features softened and he felt his heart swell under the kind, apologetic look she gave him because he had waited centuries to see her gaze at him like that again.

 

“I am sorry,” she started gently, “I am just... curious about you. You are an enigma to every norm that I am familiar with.”

 

He was silent for a long, careful moment as he considered his options. He would not have her despise him again, but her interest and curiosity worried him because it poked and prodded at his carefully created disguise. He wanted to tell her the truth, he wanted that he could tell her who she really was, tell her how his heart ached to draw her into his arms again and how it meant everything to him that she was alive once more. But she would never understand while she’d spent two and a half decades thinking she was the First to a dalish clan.

 

Eventually, he settled on telling her only what wouldn’t harm her and murmured, cautiously, “What would you know of me, then?”

 

She assaulted him with questions about his past and his knowledge, and he almost wished he hadn’t offered because he spent hours talking to her and it became exhausting after a while. He replied to her near interrogations with half truths that omitted crucial details but where never truly lies, either. He told her how he’d dreamt years away in the Fade, but neglected to tell her just how many centuries he’d been doing it for. He told her how he’d seen Arlathan in memories, but failed to mention that it was his own memories that he drew upon.

 

Before he knew it, he’d wasted hours away talking with her and she was sitting by his side on the ledge, her lips curled into a smile and her body so close to his he could have reached out and touched her if he wanted. And how he wished that he could, to feel her skin against his once more after so long apart, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate while he was but an acquaintance to her, so he pushed the feeling away as best he could. Yet, the more their conversation progressed, the more he found it impossible to ignore the faint suggestions in her voice, the comments that she made that he could so easily have overlooked but chose not to because he longed for her. He chose to see the flirting in what she said because he wanted it to be there, he wanted the way she grinned and smirked at him to be real.

 

When she held his gaze steadily and said, “Then perhaps I can help you make new friends outside of the Fade,” it caught him off guard and he cleared his throat awkwardly but couldn’t stop himself from staring into her eyes while they flashed with suggestion at him.

 

“That would be...” he started and he narrowed his gaze carefully at her even as his voice faltered. “Well...”

 

He couldn’t finish the sentence under her attention like that and she grinned as she replied. “That isn’t quite an answer.”

 

His lips pulled into the faintest of smiles because he knew that teasing so well and it warmed him to be on the receiving end of it again after so long. Carefully, he replied with, “For one so curious about me, you are not so different yourself.”

 

“Oh?” She tilted her head at him. “How so?”

 

“You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit.” He paused for a moment as he held her gaze. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

 

The way she fixed him with such a curious, intrigued look made his smile deepen as he noted she’d caught onto his flirting. She repeated after him with, “Indomitable focus?”

 

The flash of interest in her eyes made his heart jump onto the possibility he could stoke such a long smouldering flame, and he was replying with suggestive tones dripping from his lips before he knew it. “Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be... fascinating.”

 

When she laughed, the sound tore an unabashed grin from his lips because she had never been able to fail to make him happy.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again many thanks for all the support! 
> 
> One of my amazing friends has also done a tarot style picture of young Fen'Harel loosely inspired by this story, if you're interested it can be found here! http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/post/108086533838/my-poor-attempt-at-a-tarot-like-card-for-young
> 
> Also just playing a little bit around with the idea of the 'future' and timetravel in Redcliffe in this chapter

Solas stayed by her side as Lavellan addressed the chantry and made to find a way to close the breach. He travelled with her for days and weeks, spent his evenings at camp indulging her curiosities about the Fade and nurturing their growing friendship. It was a careful, innocent thing that grew between them and while he still loved her with the same intensity and passion that he had done in Arlathan, it was enough to see her smile and call him lethallin. Their conversations tilted on suggestive from time to time, and he was not blind enough that he didn’t notice her occasional attempt to flirt with him. He returned her interest, albeit cautiously, and slowly they began to repair and move past their initial conflict over the dalish.

 

That day he accompanied her with some of their more recent companions on their way to Redcliffe where she hoped to negotiate an alliance with the mages to gain their assistance in stopping the breach. The alliance was moving nowhere though while Lavellan tried, and failed, to read the map directing her to Redcliffe.

 

“By the Dread Wolf!” She shouted it loud enough bandits five miles away could have heard her as she stared at the piece of paper in her hands. “Why do these maps make no sense!”

 

“Lavellan -” Solas started cautiously but she flat out ignored him in preference of her frustration.

 

“Dread Wolf’s hairy ass! Someone find me who drew this map so I can take them to Haven and judge them for their incompetence!”

 

Sera, one of their recent additions, let out a little snigger of laughter and Solas sighed, unimpressed, as Lavellan continued to loose a string of expletives that more or less only revolved around taking his name in vain. After a good few minutes of it, and particularly once they began to revolve around his genitalia, he had enough and snapped, annoyed, “Lavellan, do you really think it wise to talk in such an obscene manner?”

 

“What?” Lavellan span around and stared at him, evidently irritated that her tirade had been interrupted.

 

“I simply mean that were I Fen’Harel, I would not look kindly on someone using my name in such a manner,” he replied simply.

 

“You think the Dread Wolf would, what, turn up in my dreams to punish me for insulting him?” she asked, the irritation clear in her voice. He took solace in knowing it was clearly aimed at the map in her hand, rather than personally at him.

 

He shrugged. “Given the dalish beliefs about him, that would not seem so farfetched to me.”

 

“The Keeper taught me that the Dread Wolf stalks the dreams of a clans First, trying to corrupt and seduce them,” she replied in a huff. “I think I have more than enough practice evading him from what she taught me.”

 

“Do you?” he mused and he couldn’t stop his lips pulling into a grin at the irony that steeped their conversation like thick mud. “How do you know the Dread Wolf hasn’t already tried to seduce you, and you simply did not realise it was him?”

 

She scoffed at him. “I think I would realise if Fen’Harel tried to get into my pants, Solas.”

 

“Of course,” he conceded but he couldn’t stop the amusement that splashed across his features given what she was saying. “I would not presume to insult your talents, Lavellan.”

 

She smiled ever so briefly, but the moment her gaze returned to the map in her hands she yelled in frustration and threw the paper to the ground. “Dread Wolf take me!” she exclaimed angrily.

 

Solas couldn’t have stopped the snort of laughter that slipped from his lips even if he’d wanted to. How much she didn’t know that the Dread Wolf had taken her, quite literally, on more than one occasion. The irony was too bittersweet for him, and Lavellan stared at him, dumbfounded.

 

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

 

“Nothing at all,” he recovered smoothly and bent down to pick the paper up with long elegant fingers. “Here, perhaps I can assist you with this map that appears to be troubling you so.”

 

\---

 

Solas saw her die again.

 

He watched their enemies break and butcher Lavellan’s fragile body, fling her to the side like a helpless toy. And he cried a feral, bestial noise and ran to her because after all that had happened; to simply lose her again... he could not bear it. In the blood drenched snow he cradled her body, pulled her into his arms and shook and trembled because he’d only just come to terms with having her in his life again, only to have her taken and ripped from him so easily. He wept for her, his bleeding heart so mauled and lifeless again by his own hand however indirectly he’d caused it. Their enemies advanced towards him while he mourned for his love that lay broken, bleeding and beyond repair.

 

And when they captured him, he did not resist.

 

Her death, his guilt and failure over the elves and the breach broke him, and when they tortured and forced red lyrium upon him he didn’t fight back in the slightest. He accepted the pain and agony as a penance for his misdeeds and he suffered in silence for months in the dungeons of Redcliffe castle. But that morning when he heard his jailer approach, it was different. Gone were the usual clumsy, heavy footfalls of the people that caged him and instead he heard the graceful, light padding of bare feet upon the dirty blood spattered stone.

 

Slowly, for every movement of his tortured, corrupted body seared pain through him, Solas glanced up through the bars of his prison. When he saw her pure white hair glinting in the dim candlelight, her brilliant violet eyes that cut through the darkness and the curve of her vallaslin that he loathed so much, he staggered backwards in disbelief and shock. He fell against the wall of his cell, pain wracking his body and incapable of believing what vile trick his captors had chosen to torment him with this day. And yet she only opened the door to his prison and beckoned, urgently.

 

“Solas, quickly-”

 

“You’re dead,” he interrupted and his voice was hoarse and broken because it’d been hours since he last drank and weeks since he last spoke. “I watched you die, I held you in my arms, cradled your body-”

 

His voice twisted into a wretched, agonised cry as the tainted lyrium that burnt and festered along his skin flared. Eyelids squeezed shut to block it out but when it faded they flickered open again, his once blue eyes glowing red from what had been forced on him. Again his gaze jumped to her and he hissed, denying and begging all at once, “ _No_.”

 

He held his head as he buckled to his knees and tried to shut her out. “Stop this torture. You already have me as your prisoner, you have already broken me. Leave my memories untouched, leave her pure.”

 

He was shouting now to try and push the false image of her away. “If there is anything left in you that is not twisted and vile then _end this_. I have already tormented myself age upon age for her death and I _will not_ suffer you toying with her memory!”

 

“Solas!” Lavellan’s agonisingly accurate and sweet voice gracing his ears jolted him but he refused to acknowledge her existence, as if it might make the facade stop. It was only when she grabbed his hands and pulled them from his temples, cupping them in her own gentle fingers that he was forced to stare up at her. “I’m real.”

 

“You can’t be,” he breathed. “Fate would not be so kind to me a second time, for I did not even deserve it the first.”

 

“Alexius sent us forward in time,” she told him gently.

 

She explained what had happened and he believed her because the only thing he had left was hope. Like a light in the darkness he’d been engulfed in, he followed her through the corridors of Redcliffe castle until they found Cassandra and Leliana, both as broken and hurt as he. When they reached Alexius’ chambers, he gave everything to buy Lavellan and Dorian the time they needed to return to the present. Solas gave his life for her because she needed it to stand a chance at fixing his mistakes, and because he owed it for the time he’d let her die.

 

Even as the sword slid into his gut and the blood started to pool, he took solace in knowing she would make it and none of these events would ever come to pass. It broke him to lay against the cold hard floor alone and dying, but he endured the pain and anguish with the knowledge that she would survive and that he had not repeated history a second time.  

 

\---

 

Lavellan’s attitude towards him when she was returned to the present day after Alexius’ spell was... curious at best. Because Solas had not truly been in the future with her to begin with he was at a loss as to what might have happened and her careful, intrigued stares as they travelled back to Haven made him more than slightly nervous. He tried to read her features for some kind of explanation, but she remained frustratingly vague and relinquished nothing of use. When they returned to their fortress, and after sometime speaking with her advisors, her new mage allies and that ridiculously dressed and moustached mage Dorian, she found him.

 

“Walk with me,” Lavellan started and Solas obliged, if somewhat hesitantly, and allowed her to lead him out the gates and towards the lake. She brought him to the useless pier stuck in the near perpetually frozen water and sat on the end of it, her legs dangling in the air as he did the same beside her. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened at Redcliffe.”

 

His brow knitted as he stared out across the lake. The cool wind bit and stung at his cheeks so with a practised flare of magic he shielded them from the elements for as long as his meagre power would last. “I assumed as much.”

 

“Do you remember anything about what happened in the future?” she started as she glanced sidelong at him. In her eyes he saw the briefest flickers of appreciation for his efforts to stop the wind lashing at her skin.

 

“I was not truly there to begin with,” he replied cautiously. “How could I?”

 

“Good point.” She paused for a moment, chewed on her lip before staring at him curiously. “You had some interesting things to say in the future.”  

 

“I’m sure Cassandra and Leliana did as well.” He shrugged, a vain attempt to try and deflect her prying.

 

“They did, but you were the only one who broke down and refused to believe I was real because you’d seen me die.”

 

“I can hardly claim understanding of what I might do in the future when I have not yet experienced the events that may have shaped my actions at Redcliffe.”

 

Lavellan sighed and glowered at him ever so briefly. “You said I couldn’t be real because fate would not be so kind to you a second time, that you did not deserve it the first.”

 

He sighed, threaded his fingers in his lap and stared at them intently as he tried to find words that wouldn’t expose him. While she still did not remember he knew that if she were to doubt who he was, and far more so find out he was Fen’Harel, he would be ruined. “I do not deserve many things, Lavellan. And I would prefer it if you did not press the matter, it is... painful and not something I willingly discuss.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment and he twisted to hold her gaze that still remained so guarded and unyielding that it irritated him beyond measure. Then, with her lips pressed into a thin line, she dropped the subject and pestered him about the technicalities behind the magic of time travel. He was more than happy to indulge her curiosity and to theorize with her where his own knowledge was lacking. He humoured her for hours until his shield was buffeted and coated in a thin layer of snow. And yet even as they spoke of simple, casual topics, he could not help but notice the way her eyes narrowed at him in split second intervals and he knew that day that he had almost been caught.

 

In that moment he realised truly how much he was lying and deceiving her and it made him feel guilty and wrong about returning her very obvious affection for him. It was as if, given their history, the both of them were falling for a lie and not the truth of who one another really were. And it tortured him beyond words to think that she would fall for a disguise that, however well fabricated, was not real. So he decided that afternoon that he would carefully, gently, try and dissuade her interest in him.

 

It was not that he didn’t want her, because he did, more anything else in this world and beyond, but it nagged at him that she would be interested in him while he was misleading her and while she remembered nothing.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again guys <3
> 
> Also, an amazing beautiful awesome lady named Kreebby has written a little something based off this story, if you're interested it may be found here: http://kreebby.tumblr.com/post/108240200651/gargalesthesia-lavellan-tickling-solas-his (it involves tickling and it's adorable <3)

He could have heard them celebrating a mile away. Not that he begrudged them their success over closing the breach, but their drunken and horrendously off-key singing was an affront to his acutely sensitive elven ears and it was stopping him from sleeping. The door to his shack smashing open, violently, was also a particular detraction from his slumber. Solas frowned and stood up as he saw Sera standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a determined look painted over her features. Her clothes were predictably ripped and dirty as they always were. He briefly entertained the thought of whether or not she even _had_ any clean clothes.

 

“Come on, elfy,” she started as she grabbed his hand.

 

“Wh-” he stuttered as she very literally dragged him out of his shack and towards the tavern. “Sera!”

 

“Oh, shut it,” she interrupted. “Everyone else is celebrating, stop being such a stuck up twat and join in.”

 

He glowered at her but she hardly seemed to care as she pushed him inside the tavern and made him sit at a table with the rest of their companions, nearly all of whom where blind drunk. Solas flinched where he was sandwiched between Bull and Dorian, both of whom reeked of alcohol and where belching. Across from him Lavellan was swaying a little and the rest of their companions where dotted at various other places at the table. He tried not to make eye contact for too long with Lavellan but he failed miserably at it. Trying to push her away was far harder than he’d initially thought, and sometimes he actually found himself flirting with her _more_ than before so help him.

 

“Here!” Bull announced and pushed a mug in front of him enthusiastically.

 

Solas frowned and let his fingers, gingerly, curl around the handle. He hesitated, and Bull scoffed at him. It smelt disgusting and looked even worse, like something they’d pulled from the sewers.

 

“Just drink it already.” The qunari burped loudly as he finished the sentence in his face, and Solas’ nose wrinkled at his atrocious smelling breath because it was like an insult to his senses. He glowered, for a moment, at Bull before rolling his eyes and taking a sip of the drink.

 

Solas immediately wished he hadn’t, because it burnt his throat and made him gasp, heave for breath and gag as he crumpled over the table. When he composed himself, he hissed rather hoarsely, “What _is_ this?”

 

“Maraas-lok!” Bull announced and slapped him ‘affectionately’ on the back, which only sent the poor elf doubling over once more. “It’ll put some hairs on your chest.”

 

“Elves do not grow body hair,” he replied and his voice was still scratchy and raw from the alcohol he’d poured down his throat. His companions ignored him however, and after several moments of awkward silence, Blackwall belched loudly and turned to face the elf.

 

“Sera and I were just talking about you-”

 

“I am already pre-emptively offended at what is to come,” Solas muttered dryly but the human either ignored him purposefully or didn’t hear him at all.

 

“We need you to settle a question for us,” Blackwall continued. Solas chanced a glance at the blonde elf rogue, who was barely suppressing a giggle in anticipation. “You... make friends with spirits?”

 

“I do,” the mage replied very carefully.

 

“So, uh,” Blackwall started, “Are there any that are more than friends?”

 

Solas stared at the human, disbelieving, for several long minutes at what he was implying. When Blackwall added, “If you know what I mean,” and Sera chimed in with a wiggle of her eyebrows and kissing noises, the mage sighed mournfully and glowered at the pair of them.

 

“Oh, for-” he began grumpily. “Really?”

 

“It’s a perfectly natural thing to be curious about,” Sera added with a snicker. It was decidedly nothing of the sort in his opinion.

 

Solas seethed at her. “For a twelve year old, perhaps.”

 

“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Blackwall added with a little chuckle.

 

With a mournful, ever suffering sigh, he replied, defensively with, “Nothing about the Fade or spirits is ever simple. Especially not that.”

 

Blackwall laughed so loudly it drew the attention of their every other companion at the table. Including Lavellan, to Solas’ embarrassment. “So you do have experience dallying with spirits in the Fade!”

 

“I did not say that!” the mage protested as a furious blush crept up his cheeks. “I merely mean that relationships with spirits cannot be defined by the same parameters as those used for mortal friendships!” He should have stopped in his tracks right there, but his mortification got the better of him and he continued, angrily, with, “And what if you were to nurture a relationship with another living person in your dreams? What if that was where you first kissed? Does it invalidate the affection simply because it happened in the Fade?”

 

“ _Now_ I’m interested,” Dorian chimed in with a laugh. “Do share of this precious thing you played with in your dreams!”

 

Solas gaped, appalled at himself for setting himself up so horrendously for more taunting. When his gaze flickered at Lavellan and saw her curious look, he swallowed thickly and replied hastily, “It was a hypothetical situation.”

 

“Don’t be so precious,” Bull chided and shoved the elf playfully in the shoulder. “Spill everything, elf. What lucky person had your tongue shoved down their throat while they slept?”

 

“I am not being precious,” Solas protested, “You are all being lewd and vulgar!”

 

“Leave the poor dear alone,” Vivienne mercifully interrupted but even as he glanced at her he could see the amusement painting her features. For a moment, Solas wondered if he was spared their teasing, but then Sera opened her mouth.

 

“Bet that’s the only way he can fuck someone – in the Fade, with his spirit friends watching,” the rogue sniggered.

 

Mortified, Solas buried his head in his hands and hissed, grumpily, “I am surrounded by _children_.”

 

And that was when the shouting started outside.

 

\---

 

The attack on Haven caught everyone by surprise but they reacted quickly. Lavellan rose to the challenge, and with Cassandra and her advisors at her side, they shouted orders at their people with unwavering efficiency. Solas almost thought they’d win their hopelessly outnumbered fight but his surprise was short lived when the dragon arrived. With his orb, Corypheus sent him, Cassandra and Varric flying and the elf hissed as his back slammed into the stone wall of Haven.

 

It ached and stung, but he picked himself up quickly, forced to look past the pain and moved back towards Lavellan. He paused when he saw Corypheus closing in on her, his stolen orb glowing as it reacted with her marked hand and her body twisting and writhing in pain on the floor. And Solas remembered in that moment how fragile and vulnerable she really was. He remembered how he’d found her dead and how she could be taken from him so easily again right now if he didn’t do something. He shouted her name, let a burst of magic sear over Corypheus but the monster hardly reacted when he had his dragon looming over them.

 

“Move!” Cassandra urged, grabbing Solas by the back of his robes and trying to drag him away.

 

“No, please,” he protested desperately but the woman had an iron grip on him and he couldn’t escape.

 

He watched in horror as Cassandra pulled him towards the main building in Haven where the others were. He watched as Corypheus loomed over the one he loved so much, and he watched as the flash of green magic blinded them and then all he saw was the door to the barracks slamming shut in his face. He dropped to his knees, defeated, head hung and with a hand pressed to the wooden door as somewhere behind him Cullen barked orders at the others.

 

Then, moments later, a strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. “Get your ass moving, Solas,” Bull grunted and the elf half followed, half was dragged, with the others and into the escape tunnels.

\---

 

When they were reasonably safely out of reach of Corypheus’ forces, they stopped to tend to their wounded. It was then that Cullen set about pulling together a search party to try and find Lavellan. They’d all seen the avalanche that buried Haven and yet the soldiers refused to give up hope that she might still be alive, and that optimism just about made Solas believe it was worth trying. So Solas slipped out of camp to help in the search, alone, once he’d done everything he could for the survivors that were most critically injured.

 

His feet fell into the heavy snow and it slowed him down to a painfully sluggish pace. Quickly he realised he wasn’t getting anywhere, and once he was free from the prying eyes of the others he bent over and drew on everything he had to call on the beast. It was a difficult transformation for the number of years the wolf had been neglected in Uthenera, and in his weakened state his beast form was affected the same. But he could still summon it, barely, and as his body twisted and shifted into the wolf he ran through the snow far faster than his elven feet could carry him.

 

His actions towards the other gods had corrupted the wolf to a pitch black thing of horrors with glowing red eyes, but it was his to control and he avoided with ease Cullen’s search party that struggled through the snow. Solas tracked Lavellan down, and when he found her doubled over in the snow and shivering he approached against his better reason. She spotted him while he was still far away, her violet eyes widening in fear as she took in the form that he knew would have been the monster in her every nightmare from what the dalish had told her.

 

Even in her weakened state she made to stagger away from him, but a gust of snow blew and obscured their sight, and he took the opportunity to slip into his elven form. He staggered towards her, fell to his knees beside her and pulled her against his chest as the blizzard buffeted the both of them and he tried with all the power he had to warm her with his magic.

 

“I saw him,” she gasped but he barely heard her in the raging wind if not for his keen elven hearing. “He’s here, Solas-”

 

“Lavellan, hush,” he chided as he realised he’d have to try and convince her later she’d been hallucinating in her delirium.

 

“The Dread Wolf, he’s coming...” She shivered against him, her body succumbing to hypothermia even while he tried with everything he had to warm her.

 

“You’re safe,” he reassured her as he tore his gaze around, desperately hoping the others were not far. “He will never hurt you.”

 

And then he felt her go limp against him. He panicked, pressed the back of his hand against her forehead and felt how icy cold she was. Refusing to let her die a second time, he slipped his arm under her knees and picked her up, carried her, painfully slowly, towards camp. It wasn’t that she was heavy, he was well built enough that he could handle her weight, but the thick snow made it near impossible to move with her burdening him, and it was a welcome relief when Cullen and his search party stumbled across them.

 

Solas readily relinquished Lavellan into the arms of the commander who was stronger and more apt to carry her through the snow. It freed the mage up as well to draw on what was left of his strength to heat the air around Lavellan in a pitiful attempt to help her. Cullen did not even question why or when Solas had left camp or how he’d found her, instead, he barked orders at his scouts with unwavering efficiency and sent them away to warn the healers so that they might be ready when they made it back to camp.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the support everyone! :)

Her hair was damp and wet against his touch from the melted snow. It was tangled and messy and it caught in his fingers as he cradled her head in his hands from where he knelt behind her. To his relief, Lavellan would survive. She would pull through this time. She had cheated fate again.

 

Solas cared for her for hours, kept her beside a rumbling fire and poured every ounce of his magic into her to mend her wounds and stave off the cold. He neglected his own needs, ignored the hungry rumbling in his stomach because he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Instead, he continued allowing her head to rest in his palms as he pressed magic into the gashes and cuts that dug into her skull. He sealed her wounds, grimacing as he felt the sticky, drying blood matted in her hair at the base of her neck.

 

No one had disturbed him for hours as he tended to Lavellan, so it came to some surprise when Mother Giselle approached and knelt down beside him. For the briefest of moments he glanced at her, but did nothing else to acknowledge her presence until she began speaking.

 

“You have done enough for her,” the human chided gently, “Go and rest.”

 

“She needs me,” he replied but Giselle’s worn, aged hands wrapped around his and pulled him away.

 

Solas stared silently for minutes, simply gazing pointlessly at the hurting woman before him that he loved so much, as if it would make the black and blue bruises disappear from Lavellan’s skin or stop the scars from forming later. After a few moments he sighed, deeply, and looked up with furrowed brows at Giselle.

 

“You love her,” the human pointed out softly and he tensed and shook his head in an immediate denial. Suppressing his feelings for so long made him backlash anytime someone implied anything that vaguely indicated he cared for her.

 

“I do not; I am merely concerned for her wellbeing when so much is required of her.”

 

“You are a poor excuse for a liar, mage.” Giselle shook her head and yet her features remained kind and reassuring. “I see it in your eyes. You gaze at her as if nothing else matters, as if no one else could ever compare, as if she is everything you ever longed for in life.”

 

“She...” A pause for a long moment but he knew he couldn’t lie to Giselle when she already saw the truth so plainly. He supposed if anyone had to figure it out he’d prefer it to be her, at least she wouldn’t ridicule him over it. “I have cared for her since the day I met her in Haven,” Solas whispered.

 

It was almost a confession, a relief to have someone finally know what he’d been hiding for months. Like a weight lifting off his shoulders that someone else might understand the burden he’d been bearing.

 

“Please,” he continued, begging, “Do not tell the others. They would not understand.”

 

“If it is what you want,” Giselle replied mercifully. “But you should tell her. I doubt that she wouldn’t return your affections.”

 

“That haunts me more than you could ever imagine,” he muttered, pained and defeated while he stood, bid the human farewell and slipped away.  

 

How much he’d hoped that Lavellan might love him again after anything, and how much he did he now realise after Haven how fragile she still was. Caring for him would only endanger her while he still walked the path he did to fix the mistakes he made so many ages ago. And yet he was selfish enough that he considered ignoring what he had to do, and indulging himself in his delusions, if only for a time. 

 

\---

 

It was curious to him how much Lavellan had grown when forced into a position of leadership. In Arlathan it had been a joint endeavour.

 

They made decisions and planned together when they tried to free the slaves. And now it was her in charge, leading him and the others. To see her rise into the role of leadership that night was heart warming because he knew, however navigationally challenged she might be, she would do well in it. Lavellan, both in her personality and her devotion to Mythal, was the kind of person who was determined to protect people even if they didn’t deserve it. It made her a far better leader than he ever would be and he just wondered if, in times like these, a person like her was exactly what the world needed.

 

 Perhaps it was that need to believe the best in others that had even made her love him so long ago, because surely no one else would have found it in themselves to care for such a wretched, hopeless creature as him.

 

So Solas watched curiously, with a small affectionate smile painting his lips and gripping his staff, as the others named her Inquisitor and sang into the dark of night despite everything that had happened at Haven. Then, when they were finished, he approached her and asked, softly, for a moment of her time. She agreed and he led her just outside their camp where a disused brazier stood upright in the snow.

 

He approached and lit it with a flick of magic from his wrist and then pressed his palm to the heat of the flames before staring up at her. She was still damaged and bruised from her fight with Corypheus but she was far better than she was before. Still, it hurt him to see her wounded and his brows tugged into a frown as he raked his eyes over her body.

 

Carefully, wistfully even, he started. “The humans have not raised one of our kind so high for ages beyond counting.” He smiled softly. “Her faith is hard one, Lavellan, worthy of pride... save one detail.”

 

She stepped towards him on the other side of the brazier, leant over the fire at just the right angle that the light reflected eerily off her white hair and violet eyes. “You look troubled.”

 

“The orb Corypheus carried?” he started, carefully, because she needed to know but not that it was his. Eventually he settled on telling her, “It is ours.”

 

He continued in explaining how he suspected that Corypheus had used the orb to create the breach, and subsequently also caused the destruction of the conclave. He told her because the Inquisition needed the information if they were to stand any chance at defeating the monster he’d unleashed, and, deep down, he wondered if the more she knew, the more likely she might be to let him have his orb back once they defeated Corypheus. He explained, however vaguely, that the orbs were once foci to the gods, although he conveniently didn’t tell her to whom this orb in particular belonged. And then, finally, he warned her how the humans would blame the elves if they ever found this out, and her fine white eyebrows pulled into a frown as recognition dawned.

 

“As if they need another reason to try and force us into submission,” she said and he laughed bitterly and dry and with no humour in the noise.

 

“I doubt anyone could force _you_ into submission,” he muttered quietly. How vividly he still remembered what a truly atrocious slave she had once been if not for her branding.  When she narrowed her eyes at him he continued, swiftly. “Whatever may come, you will need every advantage at your disposal. And you cannot fight Corypheus from the wilderness.”

 

“Then what do you suggest?”

 

He smiled, broad and verging on a grin because he had in mind the exact thing that would help.

 

\---

 

Solas led her through the mountain ranges and passages and her newly formed Inquisition followed without question or complaint.

 

He knew exactly where to take her and where she could build an impenetrable fortress that they could strike at Corypheus from. In his travels and dreams since awakening he had seen it, and of all people Lavellan was worthy to claim Skyhold. Fitting as well, perhaps, that the land the fortress was built on was sacred to the ancient elves. As they scouted through the snow and mountain ranges that day, she approached him. She was healed for the most part since Haven, her bruises yellowed and paling and her cuts and gashes healing. Later she’d have an impressive cluster of small scars curling around her jaw and cheek.

 

Solas gazed at her sidelong as he used his staff to dig into the ground and help him up the steep incline they were traversing. In the shining sun and amongst the snow, her hair was almost blinding bright. She turned to him after a moment, her features troubled.

 

“That night Corypheus attacked, in the snow when you found me...” she started and he pressed his lips into a thin line as he realised exactly what she was going to bring up. “I saw something in the blizzard.”

 

“I’m sure it was a trick of your mind,” he tried, gently, to convince her to ignore what she had seen.

 

“No... It wasn’t.” Violet eyes flashed with fear and concern for a moment and it hurt him to see it, both for the way she was feeling and that it was directed at him however much she didn’t realise it. “I saw the Dread Wolf, Solas. He came for me.”

 

“Even if he did...” Solas sighed gently as he realised he couldn’t convince her it wasn’t real. “He didn’t harm you, you are safe.”

 

“I am.” A tentative smile, and then her eyes flickered with mischief and she stepped closer. “Thanks to you.”

 

With one graceful movement she leant up and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It caught him so off guard that he stared, stunned and idiotically, at her for moments after she slipped away and continued on her path up the mountain. Slender fingers reached up to trace where her lips been against him, trying to commit it to memory and it was an embarrassment how much she undid him with such a simple, fleeting gesture. He broke from his trance moments later and blue eyes trailed up to where Lavellan was perched at the top of a ledge.

 

And then, he watched in silence as her eyes widened and her lips parted in awe as her gaze landed on the fortress they’d been searching for.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again everyone! Also my beautiful friend Jay has drawn a picture of Lavellan from this story, it can be found here: http://tehjaydek.tumblr.com/post/108723730548/kiriel-lavellan-for-brelakor <3  
> Also much thank you to Kreebby for helping proof read this chapter!

His new quarters in Skyhold were drowned in the books and papers she’d brought and begged him to teach her about. She’d been pestering him for hours, always ready with a new question or theory the moment he finished telling her about the last. Her enthusiasm was... enjoyable, but it was also exhausting. They’d only been at Skyhold for a week, and Solas was fairly certain she had a hundred other things to do far more important than talking to him.

 

Lavellan pushed aside the book she had just finished and looked up at him from where she sat cross legged on the floor to him lounging on his couch with one leg draped lazily over the edge. “Why pride?” she asked.

 

“I’m sorry?” He blinked at her because she caught him off guard and, also, because he didn’t particularly want to answer the question she was posing.

 

“Why call yourself pride?” she clarified.

 

“Because it is the only thing left in me worth anything.”

 

She stared at him for a long moment, and then scoffed. “Now you’re just being unnecessarily dramatic.”

 

“Perish the thought,” he muttered softly to himself and he could tell she didn’t hear a word he said. “There is by far enough drama in your other two mage companions that I wouldn’t chance adding to it.”

 

 “What was your birth name?” she continued and he wrinkled his nose ever so slightly at her insistent needling for information.

 

Placing the tome he’d been reading down against his chest, he deflected with a casual, “Unimportant.”

 

“Really? Your birth name is Unimportant?” She glowered as her sarcasm washed over him. “Because my birth name is actually Getting-Tired-of-Your-Evasive-Responses.”

 

He snorted a dry laugh, refused to latch onto her bait and replied by moving the conversation away from himself in a manner he thought might only irritate her even more. “I have seen things in the Fade about your name, Lavellan. It used to be a common given name in Arlathan.”

 

She frowned and rocked forward slightly, grabbing onto her feet the way a small child might. “What’s your point?”

 

“My point is your clan must have named themselves after a Lavellan who meant something in the ancient days.”

 

What he neglected to tell her was that it was herself that her clan had chosen for their namesake. Many of the clans he’d heard of in these times had initially taken their names from slaves and people who had played a notable role in their struggle for freedom. His one-time lover shrugged though as she mused, “I wonder what she was like.”

 

“I’m sure she was a great person, else they wouldn’t have taken her name for their own.” A gaze sidelong at her sidelong as he added, silently to himself _, and she was beautiful, as well._  

 

She watched him for a long moment and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny because of the way her lips pulled into a grin. “You stare at me like that a lot. Why?”

 

“You...” A paused and cursed himself for being so foolish as to be caught, and now he owed her an explanation. “You remind me of someone I once cared for.”

 

“A lover?”

 

Lips pulled into a dry smile and he shook his head because he wouldn’t fall for her bait this time. “The only thing I will tell you is that you would never need to compete with her.”

 

Her features twisted into annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Exactly what I said,” he replied simply.

 

She scoffed and turned away to return to the books before her and he could only chuckle softly at her petulant expression. After a few moments her hands stilled flicking the pages of her tome and she glanced up at him once more, her eyes bright and hopeful in such a way that it made him wary about what was about to pass through her lips.

 

“Would you tell me more about yourself?”

 

He gazed at her carefully for a long moment as he considered. “If that is what you wish,” he started eventually. “But not now, you have pestered me enough this day and I am certain your advisors are becoming irritated with your prolonged absence.”

 

Her expression fell and she sighed as she presumably realised she couldn’t hide in his quarters all day long. Reluctantly, she pushed herself up onto her feet, grumbled something he couldn’t catch, bade him farewell, and stomped out of the room. He watched her leave with a small, wistful smile on his lips.

 

Perhaps there were some things he could show her without revealing too much.

 

\---

 

Solas visited her in the Fade as what he had decided to show her was not the sort of thing he could easily conjure in the mortal world.

 

That night, while they slept, he slipped into Lavellan’s dream and manipulated it into Haven. He knew by the way she gazed around as he walked through the scene that she genuinely thought it was real. She didn’t remember that she had once been able to twist dreams as he could, and to her, the perfect accuracy of Haven, down to the gentle cool breeze and floating snowflakes, convinced her it was reality. Solas showed her where he’d kept her alive in the dungeons, deflected her thanks by telling her it was necessary and then led her outside once more where he told her how he’d tried to close the rifts.

 

And he managed, mostly, to keep the dream under control and to not let his emotions run rampant. He still loved her, he doubted he could ever stop, but he suppressed it for what he’d told himself was her own good. Yet she still flirted with him mercilessly, and it warmed his heart every time she did, but it couldn’t stop his hesitation.

 

So he kept himself removed and tried not to indulge her when she leered at him. It rarely worked, he stared at her far too much for her not to notice how he longed for her, but he tried, desperately, to discourage her even as his heart yearned to drawn her into his arms again and let himself love her.

 

He slipped up that night so tragically when he told her, softly, that when she closed her first Fade rift, he _felt the whole world shift._

 

“You felt the whole world shift?” she repeated with a grin and he flushed as he realised his mistake.

 

“A... figure of speech,” he deflected casually to try and dissuade her. It had painfully little effect at wiping the smile off her features.

 

“I’m aware of the metaphor,” she replied and when she stepped closer, his muscles betrayed him and he froze in place. “I’m more interested in felt.”

 

“You change...” he started helplessly, before realising that he was already beyond hope and threw caution to the wind by adding, meaningfully, “Everything.”

 

A final attempt to look away and discourage her somehow, and he almost thought it might have worked, until he felt her hand clasp his chin and pull him to face her. He submitted because he ached to feel her against him again and when she leant up and kissed him, he sighed softly against her lips. But it was short and fleeting, and she pulled back a moment later, raked her eyes over his features to try and determine his intentions but he betrayed nothing and her brow tugged into a frown as she stepped away, embarrassed and trying to hide her rejection.

 

And he couldn’t bear to see her think as if he didn’t care for her. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her towards him and caught her by the waist as he pressed another kiss to her lips. She startled slightly at first, but folded in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck. When she opened hungrily to him, he slipped his tongue into her hot mouth and moaned softly against her. It had been centuries since he’d held her in his arms and he was _aching_ for her.

 

Like a starving man gorging himself at a banquet he bent her over until she was clinging to him, delighted in the slight gasp of surprise he drew from her throat and pressed his thigh between her legs desperately, needily and without shame for how blatantly forward he was being. With his tongue curled around hers he ground his hips against her, but pulled away after a few moments because he knew if he didn’t it would get horrendously out of control. It was a reflection of how drunk on her love he was in that moment he wanted nothing more than to be completely with her, even if it wasn’t real, but he forced himself to remember that for her this was the first time they’d even kissed, so he suppressed his desire.

 

Instead, he sighed hopelessly as he pushed an errant lock of hair out of her face, and then, with another quick, fleeting kiss, he reluctantly released her from his embrace. She frowned with flushed features and reddened lips because she couldn’t have understood his hesitation, but he only smiled, gently, despite how he knew he shouldn’t encourage her.

 

“We shouldn’t, it isn’t right,” he started softly, “Not even here.”

 

But how much he wished that it was right, how he wished she remembered so he wouldn’t feel guilty holding her while he knew so many things that she didn’t.

 

“What do you mean not even here?” she asked carefully.

 

He smiled because she still hadn’t caught onto the dream. “Where do you think we were?” As she glanced around, he let part of the scene shift and alter to betray the illusion he had created.

 

 Recognition dawned on her features as she murmured, “This isn’t real.”

 

“That is a matter of debate,” he chided ever so gently. “One best discussed when you _wake up_.”

 

And with his words, he broke the dream and pulled the both of them back to the waking world. He found himself lying on his couch with a blanket draped over his legs, staring hopelessly at his paintings as he ran his fingers over his lips in the exact same manner he had done the first time she’d ever kissed him in the Fade so long ago.

 

He was lost and helpless and without the knowledge of what he should do. How devoid of control and submitted to his lust he had been in the dream was proof enough of how he wanted to let himself love her so desperately. But he couldn’t, no matter how much he tried, shake the feeling that it was wrong to deceive her. It felt as if, while she didn’t remember, her interest in him wasn’t truly her free will.

 

And her freedom had been everything to him. 

 

\---

 

It did not take Lavellan long to find him the next morning. Much as the first time it had happened, Solas had barely managed to compose himself when he heard her opening the door to his quarters. He was hunched over his desk, staring at a tome when she came in, and he glanced up at her nonchalantly, and murmured, “Sleep well?”

 

The annoyed look that danced over her features made it impossible for him not to grin and he stepped back from the table to observe her properly. She merely stepped towards him, but maintained a respectful distance, as she replied with her eyes trained on him. “When I asked to talk to you, I didn’t think we’d be doing it in the Fade.” She paused pointedly, before adding with a brief glance at his thigh, “Or _doing it_ in the Fade for that matter.”

 

He chuckled softly at her choice of words, but sobered soon after and shook his head dismissively. “I apologise, the kiss and so much more was... impulsive and ill considered, and I should not have encouraged it.”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that now, but you were the one who started with tongue.”

 

“I-” he scowled at her but he couldn’t maintain it in the face of the humour of her words, so it twisted into a smirk. “I did no such thing.”

 

“Oh? Does it not count if it’s Fade tongue?” she challenged. “Does that rule apply to you shoving your thigh between my legs as well?”

 

He gaped at her for several moments like a fool, before he managed to compose himself and mutter, defensively, “It has been a long time. And yet...”

 

A pause with a frustrated sigh because even after everything he’d told himself, having her standing here before him with that smile on her features only made him want to pull her in and claim her mouth in another kiss. He was conflicted, and his hesitation showed as her features, slowly, twisted into hurt and rejection.

 

“Lavellan, I am not sure this is the best idea,” he continued as gently as he could. “It could lead to trouble.”

 

She reached forward, took his hand and squeezed it meaningfully and he froze under her touch. “I’ll risk it.”

 

“You-” he started before his voice faltered because she was actually _pouting_ at him. “Maybe, yes.” He was saying it before he could stop himself, the words falling from his lips to reflect his desire and not his better judgement. “If you would give me some time to think.”

 

She grinned, and her fingers linked with his caressed him ever so gently. “Take all the time you need.”

 

“Thank you.” He allowed himself to smile at her even as he pulled his hand from hers. “It is not often that I am moved by events that occur in the Fade, and yet it every time it has happened, it seems to have revolved around you.”

 

And with that he ended the conversation, insisted that she seek out her advisors before they sent a search party after her and wondered when he was finally alone, if he truly was going mad. 


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thank you's to everyone and tehjaydek.tumblr.com for her help with elvish <3

He had not encountered any issues bathing alone up until that point.

 

Even if Solas only wielded a fraction of his power, it was more than enough to destroy any wild beasts that tried to ambush him while he washed. It was for that reason that he became lax in his attention and did not notice the mischief that was going to befall him that night before it was too late. He’d sat down beside a small lake, moved to pull his robes off but didn’t even get anywhere when he felt a droplet of water splash on his bald head and run down his neck. Solas frowned and glanced up. It was then that he saw the globe of water suspended over him.

 

He sighed deep and mournful as it burst over his head and soaked him. Glowering at the lake for several moments he knew Lavellan wouldn’t stay around long enough for him to catch her. And he _knew_ it was her. After several moments he pulled himself up, his wet robes sticking to him and outlining every curve of his chest and muscles.

 

“Some things never changed,” he muttered as he trudged, grumpily; back to camp. The water that dripped from his robes made his bare feet squelch on the ground.

 

When he reached camp he found Lavellan sitting by the fire, flipping through a book and Sera walking, rather suspiciously, away from his tent. He frowned at the rogue because he didn’t trust her in the slightest and she scoffed up at him, and then snickered in the high-pitched, gigglish sort of noise she so often made that hurt his ears from the shrill nature of it.

 

“Shite, elfy, did no one ever teach you how to bathe?” Sera snorted as she spoke. It was most unattractive and it made him wrinkled his nose in displeasure. “You’re meant to take your clothes off first.”

 

“I am aware of the custom,” he replied dryly and flickered his gaze at Lavellan. Even as much as she tried to hide it he still saw her smirk and the flush of her cheeks. “Although no one ever taught me to watch out for large globes of water suspended above my head. Ironic then that this is not the first time it has happened.”

 

Lavellan glanced up at him with a poorly concealed grin and he rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. Sitting down beside the fire, he pulled his wolf-jaw necklace off and begun tugging at the ties on his robes, before pausing at the surprised squeak it earned him from Sera.

 

“What, you just going to strip right here? In the middle of camp?”

 

“I am not _stripping_ ,” he replied pointedly, “But I would prefer that my clothes not be soaking wet tomorrow morning, either.”

 

Sera scoffed and slipped away into the tent she was sharing with Bull and Solas couldn’t stop the faint tug at the corner of his lips at her reaction. Lavellan, however, said nothing and continued to read her book intently as he peeled off his robes and laid them out beside the fire to dry, leaving him in only his leggings.

 

Except when he glanced at Lavellan, he rather realised she was far less reading her book, but more so peering over the top of the pages and at him. He stared at her for a long moment, curious at how her eyes lingered on his bare chest. Then, she wrenched her gaze away and back onto the words before her.

 

Solas couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at his lips even if he’d wanted to. Even after so long, even after everything, the fact that she would leer at him so inappropriately filled him with satisfaction. He reached for the dry woollen shirt he slept in so often from their supplies and tugged it on. And even as he did so and caught her staring once more. If he didn’t know better he would have cautioned that she looked disappointed that he was fully clothed again.

 

“Do you always drench your companions with water and then leer at them while they change into dry clothes, or am I a special exemption?” he teased and he knew he shouldn’t have said it, but so help him that it came so naturally to him.

 

“Do you always disrobe in front of your leader instead of using your tent?” she countered, and he paused for a moment, caught off guard, before allowing a smirk to form on his features.

 

“You are the one staring, not I.” At his comment, she scoffed and looked away.

 

Moments later, when he reached for his necklace, she turned back to him and curled her fingers around the jawbone. “What is this?” she asked as she twisted it in her hands.

 

“A memento, nothing more.” Reaching for the string, he threaded it through his fingers as he tried, gently, to take it back.

 

“It’s a wolf jaw,” she pointed out.

 

“You are very observant,” he replied dryly. She scowled but then paused as their fingers met along the string and her eyes flickered up to his and held his gaze. He swallowed, thickly, under her scrutiny but try as hard as he might have liked he couldn’t pull away.

 

After a few moments she released her hold on his necklace and murmured, wistfully, “It must be important to you.”

 

“It is, Fea’sa.” He put it around his neck once more, the heavy feel of it against his chest a reassurance he hadn’t known he was missing.

 

“Fea’sa?” she repeated with a frown and he cursed softly at how easily he’d let the word fall from his lips without even an attempt to stop it.

 

“It is a fragment of the ancient language,” he explained softly. “It means you are unique.” He let his fingers trail, for the briefest of moments, over her marked hand as he spoke to emphasise his point before withdrawing his fleeting touch.

 

She couldn’t have known but it meant far more than a word to describe someone who was unique. It was an endearment the people once used to describe someone who was irreplaceable to them, someone they could never stand to lose.

 

It was the word that meant soul mate.

 

\---

 

Solas retired to his tent not long after and slipped under his blankets and bedroll. He tried to get comfortable, twisted and turned for a bit and finally felt as if he’d found a position that agreed with him, and then he felt something slide along his leg. Solas yelped and fumbled in his blankets, threw them off and hastily created a globe of light to brighten the surroundings. The globe he created was far too intense and he cringed, dimmed it significantly before he woke up anyone else, and stared, disgusted, at his bedroll that was crawling with slimy, wriggling lizards.

 

It was undoubtedly Sera’s doing, and he glowered at the little reptiles as if his anger would make a difference. Crawling out of his tent moments later, he tried to shake out the creatures from his blankets and bedroll, but it was too little success. After several minutes and attempts, he sat down beside the dying fire and seethed furiously for several unproductive moments until he heard a shuffling nearby

 

Evidently he had disturbed Lavellan with his globe of light, because she poked her head out of her tent and stared at him, her eyes squinting sleepily. “Solas? Why are you out here?”

 

“It involves lizards, my bedroll, and a certain rogue we are acquainted with,” he replied, his eyes narrowing into a glower even as he thought of Sera.

 

“Ah.” Lavellan paused for a moment. “You can’t sleep out here, you’ll freeze.”

 

He shrugged. “I can warm myself with magic.”

 

“All night long?” She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him and he sighed as he realised he couldn’t. If only he had his orb he would have been able. He would have been able to do a lot of things if he had the damn thing. She beckoned towards her tent, but he stayed put. “You can share my bedroll.”

 

“That would not be appropriate.” He stared at her as if she was mad to even think to offer to sleep beside him when they weren’t even...

 

Solas didn’t particularly know what their state of relationship was now that he thought about it.

 

She’d respected his wishes for time to consider and not pressured him for commitment or about the kiss they’d shared in the Fade. And yet she’d continued to flirt and tease him continuously, and he’d returned it more than he’d liked. It was like a pseudo state where one would be offended if the other showed interest in another other than them, and yet neither where they formally bound to a relationship together. Complicated was a fairly accurate, if vague, term to describe their relationship, he decided.

 

“It’s either that or you climb into Bull and Sera’s tent,” Lavellan offered with a shrug. Solas balked at the idea. Sharing with one of the two of them would be unpleasant at best, Sera for obvious reasons and Bull because it ran the risk of him being bulldozed in the middle of the night when the qunari rolled over. Both of them at once was vaguely horrifying.

 

“I do not think-” he began brokenly before sighing. “Very well.”

 

He crawled into her tent and let his little globe of light brighten the surroundings enough that they could see what they were doing. They laid down, back to back, and Lavellan pulled her blankets over them both. He tried to ignore the warmth of her pressing against him but it was difficult and it took him far longer than it usually did to fall into sleep that night.

 

When the bright light of dawn woke him the next morning he realised, with some discomfort, that he was facing her, and she him. He swallowed and stared for a long moment. She was still asleep and to see her so close, to have her body flush against him and her hair tickling his skin, it drove him mad. So he withdrew hastily, slipped out of the tent and tried to force the thoughts from his mind that taunted him so torturously.

 

That day, as Lavellan led them through Crestwood to try and track down Hawke and his Warden ‘friend’, Solas kept glancing back at her every few minutes. Each time he did he swallowed thickly and wrenched his gaze away before the flood of memories started again.

 

It was a painful, difficult day to suffer through, and he filled it with thinking of ways to plot revenge at Sera for getting him into the situation in the first place.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to direct your attention to some lovely arts inspired by this story!
> 
> First: Solas version tarot card of the Fen'Harel tarot mentioned earlier in this story ( http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/post/109104142223/i-am-grim-and-fatalistic-the-brother-of )  
> Second: NSFW scene from chapter 13 ( http://pinacoladamatata.tumblr.com/post/108985778167/her-beauty-in-the-moonlight-overthrew-you-i )  
> Third: General NSFW scene ( art by itself: http://tehjaydek.tumblr.com/post/109080500083/remember-when-i-moved-in-you-the-holy-dove-was or art with mini fic: http://brelakor.tumblr.com/post/109081015872/tehjaydek-remember-when-i-moved-in-you-the-holy )
> 
> Thank you again for taking the time to read this :)

The situation with the Wardens at Adamant was, at best, an atrocious mess, and at worse, bordering on more idiotic than half of Solas’ own stupid decisions.

 

And Solas had made his fair share of stupid decisions in his life. But still he followed Lavellan, Hawke and the others through the siege on the fortress. Then, just like Haven, the dragon arrived and everything or more less went downhill from there. Quite literally in some ways, because the platform they’d been standing on was collapsing.

 

Solas ran over the crumbling stones with his desperate companions, jumped between cracks and falling debris but he was too far behind the others and he lost his footing. The ground gave way under him and he fell, his chest crushing against a ledge so hard that it knocked the air from his lungs. Fumbling and filled with adrenaline, he tried to pull himself up from where he dangled but the stone he clung so dearly to cracked and broke under his weight. He called for help, and of course Lavellan was the first to respond. She’d been safe, so far ahead she was on stable, safe ground and yet she ran back for him, threw herself to her knees and clasped hold of his arm just as the stone gave way and he fell until only his fingers clung to the ledge.

 

Their gazes met for a split second, and in that time his pure blue eyes begged that she would leave him and save herself, but it was far too late for either of them and moments later the entire platform collapsed. The wind caught and whipped at his robes as he fell, his eyes widened in horror as he saw Lavellan and the rest of his companions follow him into the abyss.

 

And then, just as his body should have broken itself on the ground below, a tidal wave of magic enveloped him and everything surrounding him went dark.

 

The next thing he became aware of was the feel of magic surrounding every inch of him. It toyed and pressed against his skin, enveloped his keen senses and he realised, very quickly, where he was. The bizarre rock formations and hazy green mist were irrelevant for him to gain his bearings; he knew it was the Fade the moment he felt the magic permeating over his skin.

 

Yet he was still falling. Alarmingly quickly as well, so much so that he was coming rather closing to smashing into the floor, if he could even call it that. With a flare of a spell he morphed the magic enveloping him until his descent slowed. In the air, he twisted his body around much like falling cat might, and he landed gracefully with his bare feet on the ground a moment later.

 

Then he heard the sound of his companions joining him and looked up. Lavellan was catapulting clumsily towards him and he obliged stilling her descent with a burst of magic much in the same manner he had stopped his own fall. But she lacked the familiarity and finesse with the Fade that he did, and while he managed to arrest her descent and hold her floating in the air, she had some difficulty finding her feet to the floor. Instead, she levitated before him, her eyes locked with his and a frown gracing her features at their unusual circumstances.

 

She was only inches away from him, and presumably when she realised this, her features twisted into a grin and she reached forward and planted a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. The gesture caught him so much by surprise that he broke the spell sustaining her and she fell, hard, to the floor with a grunt.

 

“Ow,” Lavellan groaned as she picked herself up. With curious, wide eyes she cast her gaze around their surroundings and whispered, almost disbelieving, “Is this the-”

 

“Fade, yes,” Solas confirmed and turned to drink in their surroundings better, but only startled when he found himself inches from Hawke who was hanging upside down from a small outcropping in a nearby wall.

 

“Oh. Hello,” the human replied pleasantly, as if it were a perfectly normal to converse inches from one another’s features while one of you hung upside down and in the realm of spirit’s no less. Then the champion added pleasantly, “You have very nice eyes.”

 

“Thank you?” Solas offered with a little frown as he stepped back.

 

He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around Hawke. For someone who was apparently so involved and integral in the actions that had sparked the mage rebellion, the champion was surprisingly carefree and seemed to almost just allow himself to be swept along by the ride, as if none of the crazy he saw any more fazed him.

 

“They almost remind me of ones I saw on a wolf once,” the human added casually as he righted himself in relation to what was actually the floor. Solas paled ever so slightly at his comment, and as Hawke dusted his hands off he frowned and added, “You look uncomfortable.”

 

“We are in the Fade,” Cassandra interjected and even then she was pulling her sword and shield as if it might protect her from the magic that swarmed every inch of the air around them. “There is nothing here that one should be comfortable with.”

 

“On the contrary...” Solas started softly with wide, curious eyes. Somewhere behind him he heard the unceremonious sound of Stroud smacking into the floor. “This is fascinating.”

 

“Ah, the realm of spirits,” Varric added and the dwarf did not sound overly impressed, possibly because this was a place dwarves, far more so than any other race, where not supposed to be. “Shit, this must be like all your birthdays have come at once, Chuckles.”

 

If it weren’t for the circumstances that had brought them here, it would have been.

 

\---

 

“Curious.” The demon taunted every one of them as they tried to find a way out of its domain. “Do you even know how many memories were stolen from you?”

 

Now it was Lavellan’s turn. As if it had not been enough that the demon had blatantly called Solas out on his deception in ancient elven – and he was still thankful Lavellan hadn’t understood the conversation – now he taunted and teased their leader herself. It put Solas on edge wondering how many secrets would be spilt.

 

“No, but I’ll get them back,” Lavellan replied with a glower at the sky as if she was directing it at the omnipresent voice that was enveloping all of them.

 

“Will you now?” The low rumbling chuckle from the demon made Solas swallow thickly. “Then I wish you the best of luck.” A pause, and then, “Fen’Harel enansal. _You will need it_.”

 

_The Dread Wolf’s blessing upon you._

 

Solas paled and cautioned a look towards Lavellan. She seemed confused but not altogether suspicious. He supposed that was all he could ask for. It was telling of his obsession with her that he almost wished she would question what the demon said because it might give him the chance to tell her the truth and have it believed.

 

But it was a fantasy delusion and he knew that, deep down. Far more that her suspicions would only make her realise who he was and not herself, and then he’d be done for. She could never know the truth about him while she wouldn’t understand. And it ached and wounded him to think how much she hated Fen’Harel now and in doing so also hated him. It affected his hesitation in returning her affections since their kiss more than he liked to admit.

 

After several more minutes of trudging through the Fade, Lavellan paused in her steps and tilted her head in curiosity. “What are these? Gravestones?”

 

“Looks like it,” Varric muttered as Lavellan walked between the stones and stared at the inscriptions carved into them.

 

“There are names on them.” Their leader paused before one large grave and ran her fingers over the carved words. “It’s mine.”

 

“Yours?” Cassandra mused.

 

“It says my greatest fear is-” she paused as a frown tugged at her brow. With a tilted of her head, she finished with, “Suppression.”

 

“Suppression?” Varric repeated and he still clutched his crossbow in his hands, refusing to sheath it while they walked the land of spirits.

 

“That’s what it says.” Lavellan pursed her lips and glanced up at them. “I don’t understand it either.”

 

But Solas understood perfectly. It had been what had haunted her nightmares in Arlathan and what he had freed her from. The dampening of her magic and dulling of her emotions, to live in a grey world bled of colour and life. That was what she had been terrified of returning to and, by some twist of fate, he actually appreciated that she didn’t remember what it’d been like to be suppressed. 

 

Solas turned and glanced around, and then, almost as if he were drawn to it, his gaze landed on the tombstone with his own name on it. Stepping forward, he stared at the inscription before him and frowned at what it was telling him.

 

“Dying alone?” Lavellan whispered and he didn’t even know she was standing next to him until her voice graced his ears. “Solas-”

 

“We should continue,” he interrupted and moved to step away because her prodding and the words carved into the stone wrenched up the guilt of what he’d done to the other gods.

 

But she caught his hand, made him hesitate and he glanced back at her with a pained, pleading expression. Mercifully she let go, and didn’t bring it up even once while they continued on their path. 

 

\---

 

Solas was not impressed that Lavellan decided to recruit the Grey Wardens into their cause. And yet he couldn’t truly tell her why, so he seethed and festered about the decision until they returned to Skyhold.

 

There, when he was alone in his quarters, his frustrations welled up inside him unbidden. They mixed and tangled with the guilt that he already suffered through every day and it broke his resolve. With an angry growl he pummelled his fist into the wall but it did nothing to shift the tension coursing through him.

 

The pain surged through his fingers and he winced, his forehead bowing forward to press against the cool stone as he hung his shoulders and sighed. To suffer through and bury his guilt for so long was torturing him, and in that moment he took the penance he deserved and flooded his mind with his own self loathing and hatred. He shuddered against the wall, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes squeezed shut as he submitted to the punishment he so rightly knew he deserved, and his trance was only broken by a quiet voice gracing his ears.

 

“Solas?” It was Cassandra, and with a heavy sigh he pulled from the wall and spared a glance at her. He tried to school his features so that they wouldn’t betray his anger or his disappointment but he did a poor job of it. His knuckles, bloody and raw from the stone, hardly helped. “Are you-”

 

“I am fine,” he interrupted bitterly and forced his expression to calm with a deep breath. “Can I assist you?”

 

“Hawke expressed some concerns about ill effects following our trip into the Fade,” she continued. “Would you give him a moment of your time to alleviate his worries?”

 

Solas frowned but obliged by muttering, “If he insists, then send him to me.”

 

If nothing else, it would at least help distract him from his thoughts.

 


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the support <3

“Hawke, there is nothing wrong with you,” Solas repeated for what was probably the tenth time that day. The human sat on his couch irrationally concerned as the elf stood beside him with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Completely.” Fine eyebrows tugged into a frown at Hawke’s insistence that he check every inch of him after the Fade _just in case_. “Why is this concerning you so greatly?”

 

“Oh, well...” the human deflected for a long moment, and when Solas arched a brow at him, Hawke sighed and added, embarrassed, “My lover has lyrium tattoos and I don’t want to accidentally kill him because of some weird Fade thing that happened at Adamant.”

 

Solas stared at him for a long minute before hissing, “ _That_ is why you have just wasted five hours of my time?”

 

“Better to be safe than sorry!” Hawke protested. “I mean what if the next time he’s on top of me in bed and I touch him he explodes?” A pause, and then he added, “Or I’m on top of him. I mean we switch it up sometimes.”

 

“Hearing about your sexual relations is truly the _last_ thing I wanted to happen today,” Solas groaned but the human kept babbling on so he rolled his eyes and picked up a vial of lyrium sitting on the table. Uncorking it, he stepped towards Hawke and tipped a drop of the liquid onto his hand.

 

Hawke blinked and stared at the spot it had hit his skin and when nothing one might identify as ‘bad’ happened, Solas prompted with, “Are you satisfied now?”

 

“I suppose so,” the human finally conceded.

 

“Good,” Solas started, “Now would you please-”

 

He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence because his door was smashed in quite violently and an elf covered in what did appear to be lyrium tattoos marched into his quarters. The new comer spared a quick glance at Solas who stared at him incredulously and then, very quickly, the tattooed elf’s attention snapped to the human in the room.

 

“Hawke,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

 

“Oh, hello Fenris,” Hawke replied pleasantly and Solas watched, dumbfounded, as the other elf stomped towards his presumed lover and slapped him hard across the cheek.

 

What followed next was several minutes of Fenris berating and shouting at Hawke for his idiotic actions and accusing him of having a death wish at various intervals. Hawke himself merely sighed dramatically while the elf lectured him, mimicking his lover’s anger and speech with perfect precision so much so that Solas greatly suspected this was not the first time this had happened. When they finally stopped arguing, Fenris grabbed Hawke by fisting his hands in his robes, and pushed a kiss to his mouth.

 

Solas pursed his lips, fidgeting awkwardly and then, when their affections started to become a bit too enthusiastic, he cleared his throat loudly and they broke apart.

 

“And who are you meant to be?” Fenris snapped.

 

“The owner of this room,” Solas replied politely, “Who would rather appreciate it if you took your affections elsewhere.”

 

“He’s almost as grumpy as you, Fenris,” Hawke chimed in unhelpfully. “Maybe you two should have a competition?”

 

Solas stared at him, unimpressed, for a long moment before muttering, “Please get out.”

 

\---

 

Hawke left their company after a few days and everything went back to more or less normal – or however normal their lives could be given everything that was happening with Corypheus. Lavellan began planning with her advisors their next course of action and Solas did not see much of her over the next few days.

 

Early that morning however, before the sun had risen, Solas awoke with a start, sweat clinging to his body the same way as the fragments of dreams latched onto his mind. In vivid detail could still hear the cry for help from his oldest friend amongst the spirits, and it took him minutes to recover from the shock enough to calm his breathing. With fingers pinching the bridge of his nose he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to disconnect himself from the fear and anguish he’d felt so strongly in his dreams from the spirit, but even as his eyes flickered open again he knew it had little effect.

 

A sigh spilling from his lips he tugged off his blankets and stood, but his poor sleep and scattered thoughts made him stagger and lean against his desk for support. With a groan he gazed at the strewn papers before him for minutes until his head stopped spinning. Then, cautiously, he moved to the door of his quarters and slipped out.

 

Skyhold was empty this early in the morning and he preferred it that no one would see him stagger and stumble towards the kitchens lest they think he was hung over, which was far from the truth. He fetched and filled a tea pot with water, and then made his way into the gardens. With the sun slowly creeping over the snowy mountains, he sat amongst the trees and bushes at a table and brewed the pot of tea with a flash of heat from his fingertips to boil the water.

 

Then, he poured himself a cup and stared at it for a long minute as he tried to steel himself for the bitter unpleasant taste he was about to subject himself to.  It took several more moments before he found the courage to bring the ceramic cup to his lips and pull the smallest sip of tea past his lips. Even that amount repulsed him and he pulled a disgusted face and pushed the cup back onto the table.

 

For some time longer he sat and tried to force himself to drink the tea to shrug off the clinging tendrils of sleep, and eventually he was interrupted by a soft voice.

 

“You’re up early.”

 

Solas glanced over his shoulder and found Lavellan standing behind him. She smile briefly at him and then walked over and slipped into a chair beside him.

 

“So are you,” he pointed out.

 

She looked tired, although far more awake and better slept than he. Her white hair was tangled and messy and it flooded him with the urge to lean forward and thread his fingers through it until it was combed and neat. But he couldn’t while they weren’t even together so he curled his hands around the edge of the table instead to distract himself.

 

“I was woken up by someone throwing goats at my bedroom wall,” she replied with eyebrows tugging into a frown.

 

“A... goat?”

 

“Yes. Several of them.” A moment’s pause and then Lavellan was shrugging and stifling a yawn with her hand. He supposed after all the crazy things that had happened since the breach, goats being thrown at her bedroom didn’t make it very high on the list of things that might faze her.

 

“Sometimes I wonder if you aren’t so much creating an Inquisition but rather a travelling circus given all the things that befall you,” he murmured as he forced himself to pick up his cup again and bring it to his lips.

 

“Believe me I think that myself at least three times a day.”

 

She laughed as she spoke and he took a sip of the tea. The bitter unpleasant taste hitting his tongue made him scrunch up and distort his features again because he’d never get used to it no matter how much he tried. With a scowl he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and put the cup down again.

 

“Something wrong with your tea?” she asked.

 

“It is tea,” he replied simply as if the answer in itself was enough of an explanation. “I detest it.”

 

“Then... why are you drinking it?” Lavellan tilted her head at him, staring as if he was an idiot, and in that moment he rather felt as if he was.

 

“Because I need to shake the dreams from my mind,” he offered as an explanation.

 

“Here I was thinking you were some kind of tea masochist.”

 

For a long moment he stared at her, then narrowed his eyes into a glower and added, “ _You_ have been spending too much time with Bull and Sera.”

 

“And _you_ are being grumpy and moody,” she countered.

 

His glare deepened momentarily but then he sighed, shook his head and forced his features to relax. It was hardly her fault that he was in an atrocious mood from his insufficient sleep and troubled dreams. To excuse himself he explained the reason for his distress and she listened at how he recounted his captured friend who needed his assistance. Cautiously, he asked if she would help him, and when she agreed it pulled a smile at his lips and he thanked her.

 

After a brief moment’s pause her violet eyes flickered to the cup before them and she murmured, slowly, “If you’re not going to drink it, can I have it?”

 

“Of course.” She grabbed the cup a little too enthusiastically and raised it to her lips, taking a big mouthful of the drink and swallowing it happily. He very near balked at the sight and asked, carefully, “Do you like tea?”

 

“I love it.”

 

In some twisted way he was almost grateful they weren’t technically in a relationship at that point. He didn’t fancy explaining to her that he’d rather she didn’t put her mouth anywhere near his while she stank of tea.

 

“While I have you alone, though,” Lavellan started as she held the cup between her fingers. Her words made him hesitant and he leapt to the conclusion that she wanted to discuss their relationship and he didn’t have anything formulated to respond with. Mercifully, she instead said, “Your gravestone in the Fade... it said your greatest fear is dying alone.”

 

In some ways, this line of conversation was almost as bad as what he’d initially thought she was going to bring up. Cautiously, he replied with, “It did.”

 

“Would you tell me why?”

 

He betrayed nothing but silence for several long moments and then, with a soft sigh and his lips pressed into a thin line, he obliged explaining it to her however vaguely he could. “I have many demons, Lavellan, and I have faced most of them with no one at my side. It puts things in perspective, and I fear the idea that I would die in the same manner I have spent so much of my life.”

 

“You have the Inquisition now,” she offered gently and he forced a smile to his lips to make her feel better for her attempt to comfort him.

 

In truth none of the Inquisition, however much he might ever get along with them, would replace the grief that tore at him that he was the only of his kind left in the waking world. Even if he’d hated most of the other god’s, even if they’d been so atrocious and uncaring that his only option had been to lock them away, it still ate away at him that they were gone and he was the only one left.

 

“And you have me,” she added.

 

That comment meant something to him. For years before he’d met her he’d lived alone and isolated and she would never know how much it had meant to him to have the company of another, even before she became his lover. Where the company of the other god’s thrived off his desire to not be the last of his kind, hers ran far, far deeper.

 

Hers stretched deep into his heart. A companionship and love he hadn’t known he’d needed until he’d found it so many years ago.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments and support!
> 
> A lovely friend of mine has drawn a tarot card theme of Arlathan Lavellan to go with this story, it can be found here if you are interested! http://inquisilicious.tumblr.com/post/109342489163/break-the-chains-for-brelakor-of-her
> 
> Also another lovely person drew a picture of the scene where Fen'Harel finds Lavellan dead... it can be foud here! http://pinacoladamatata.tumblr.com/post/109172339037/there-may-come-a-day-when-i-stop-drawing
> 
> (Also I realise earlier in the fic I referred to Solas' wisdom friend as she, but in game he calls his friend it, so I called it it in this chapter... I might go back and change it where he said she before if I can be bothered/find the time hah)

For all the years he’d lived he’d become accustomed to losing things time and time again. But it never made it easier to cope with. And the spirit who’d given him so much counsel in the past, who had shown him guidance and wisdom when he was lacking, would be lost to him soon as well.

 

Solas knelt by the spirit, its body twisted and darkened from what had been done to it and he reached out, cupped its blackened fingers in his own palms.

 

“My friend,” he whispered in ancient elven because he wouldn’t that Blackwall or Varric hear their discussion. “I’m sorry.”

 

With a shake of its head the spirit insisted he shouldn’t be because it was free once more and itself again. Then its eyes, glowing green so bright it was blinding to stare into them, moved to his companions for a moment.

 

“She came back to you?” the spirit asked as its sights fell on Lavellan. “But it’s not the same.”

 

“She doesn’t remember,” he replied softly.

 

“And yet she still stares at you with love dancing in her eyes.” His brow pulled into a frown at its words and he glanced away until the spirit’s hand pressed against his cheek and tilted his head towards it. “You must endure, my rebel wolf.”

 

“I know.” He moved to cup its palm against his face, the skin of his friend cold and otherworldly beneath his touch. “As I always have, I will continue.”

 

When the spirit asked him for mercy and to guide it into death he gave it freely in spite of how much it hurt. Then, with his oldest friend gone Solas stared, unwavering, at the ground for several long minutes. His features twisted to reflect his anger but it shifted to anguish when a hand rested on his shoulder hesitantly. With a glance up he saw that it was Lavellan, although he hardly expected anyone else and his eyes, so dulled and twisted by his grief, flickered to hers for the briefest of moments, before returning to the place his friend had once been.

 

“I heard what it said,” she started gently. “You did the right thing.”

 

“How much did you understand?” he asked as his brow tugged into a frown.

 

“Not everything, but enough to know that you helped it.”

 

Her touch slipped from his shoulder and then she was crouching before him, holding his gaze and mimicking the touch against his cheek in the same manner his friend had. But where the spirit’s fingers had been cold and ethereal, Lavellan’s were soft and warm. She was real and yet the first thing that crossed his mind was that she shouldn’t be for what Andruil had done.

 

It made him drive her away and slip from her touch but even as he pushed himself to his feet and turned his back to her, her voice graced his ears with the same compassion he so hardly had earned. “Let me help you.”

 

He was selfish enough to let her words pull a faint smile to his lips. “You have already helped me a dozen times over what I deserve.”

 

“Don’t say that,” she chided and he shook his head.

 

“It is the truth.” But before she had the opportunity to reply the mages that had imprisoned his friend caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

 

The sight of them twisted his features into a fury so vile it would have rivalled Andruil herself, and he stalked towards them with fists balled and magic sparking over his skin. His eyes narrowed into slits and in that moment every inch of the calm and peace that he usually showed disappeared. He slipped into madness and killed them without thought or mercy for their screams or begging. His actions were brutal and left his hands stained and dripping in their blood and when his thoughts cleared he stared, horrified and disgusted at his fingers for what he’d done.

 

“Solas,” Lavellan started and the disappointment in her voice was like a dagger twisting in his side.

 

“I... need some time alone,” he muttered and he was gone before she had the chance to respond.

 

\---

 

The water stained red with every drop of blood that he eased off his skin. Like hazy lines streaming from Solas’ fingers and tainting the river that he crouched beside, he cleaned his hands until none of the red stains remained.

 

Then, with the marks of his murder washed away he sat against the stones and pebbles that lined the stream and contemplated his actions for some time. He ran through what had happened, if he could have changed it and eventually, when he was mentally exhausted, he reached up and pinched his brow to try and clear his mind of the guilt. It was a welcome distraction when the soft pad of feet approaching broke his concentration.

 

“Solas?” Lavellan started and she hesitated before she got too close.

 

With a wave of his hand he dismissed her caution and murmured, “Stay. Please.”

 

She stilled for a long moment before sitting down beside him with her legs crossed and her hands placed in her lap. After several long moments of silence she asked, “How are you?”

 

“It hurts,” he replied and he twisted his fingers as he spoke to distract himself from the pain. “It always does, but I will survive.”

 

“Do you need to talk about it?” she offered and he shook his head.

 

Bitterness stained his voice as he replied with, “No. I am exquisitely familiar with working through my grief alone.”

 

“You don’t need to mourn alone.”

 

But how much he’d become used to it that it felt strange to again have someone that cared. The loneliness that he tried to pretend didn’t exist welled up inside him, and it twisted his words into sour spiteful phrases. “It has been so long since I could trust someone.”

 

“I know.” Truly she really didn’t, but her attempt to comfort him meant more than she realised.

 

With the offering of a small dry smile pulling at his lips he added, “I’ll work on it. And... thank you.”

 

Her attempt to comfort him in his grief even after what he’d done to the mages who’d bound his friend changed something in him that day. Her actions reminded him so much of the time she’d comforted him after he killed her master, and it chipped away and forced cracks into his resolve to not love her.

 

Wavering so dangerously on breaking point, one well timed push would shove him over the edge and shatter him.

 

\---

 

When they returned to Skyhold Solas’ thoughts were a mess. No matter how much he tried he couldn’t stop focusing on the similarities and nostalgia of Lavellan’s actions between now and Arlathan. And the longer he thought of the parts of her that were the same, the more he became haunted that there were parts of her that had changed and he simply had not noticed.

 

It drove him to desperation and he asked for a moment of her time, alone, and yet when he had Lavellan there on her balcony, gazing at him expectantly and dare he say hopefully, the words died in his throat. Blue eyes searched her features helplessly for assistance that she couldn’t give, and when his gaze trailed to her marked hand, his brow pulled into a frown as he pieced together what was throwing his thoughts into such turmoil.

 

“The orb you touched...” he started carefully, because he knew he had to word his sentences perfectly or he’d arouse her suspicion. “Do you feel it has changed you at all? Were your memories altered, your morals, your... spirit?”

 

She stared at her hand for a moment, before glancing up at him and shrugging ever so gently. “If it had, do you really think I’d have noticed?”

 

“No, I suppose not,” he replied with a small smile. Her response made him feel more comfortable, not because she’d alleviated his fears with her words but because the soft amusement dripping from her voice like honey was so eerily familiar.

 

She tilted her head at him. “Why do you ask?”

 

He hesitated for a moment before answering, carefully, with, “You show a wisdom I have not seen since... Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.” It was a roundabout way of saying Arlathan, but it was not truly a lie. “I did not think to ever know someone like you in the living world again.”

 

What he truly meant was that he’d never even hoped that she’d come back to him and that he’d be allowed to love her a second time.

 

“Sorry to disappoint you?” she offered, the confusion evident in her voice.

 

“It is not disappointing, it is by far the opposite,” he replied with a thin smile. “You show a subtlety of action, a wisdom that goes against everything I had expected. If the dalish could raise someone with a spirit such as yours...”

 

And again, he told her half truths because what his words really told was that despite who had raised her, despite everything had happened since she was born to the world again, she was still the same, her spirit completely unchanged and the way he’d remembered her before she’d died.

 

To deflect her suspicions he added, “I wonder, then, if I misjudged the dalish.”

 

“The dalish try as hard as they can,” she replied offhandedly. “Honestly, they screw things up just as much as the next person.”

 

A soft chuckle slipped from his lips because he doubted anyone could make a mess out of things as bad as he could, not even the dalish.

 

“Perhaps that is it then.” A pause with lips pressed into a thin line. “I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world, but you...” He trailed off into silence; his eyes narrowed and trained on her as he watched her reaction.

 

Her features lifted into a faint hesitant hopefulness and she gazed at him for a long moment before she replied. “So what does this mean?”

 

He couldn’t stop himself smiling even if he’d wanted to. “It means I have not forgotten the kiss.”

 

Haunted by it would have been more accurate.

 

It was a rash and ill considered thing to say, and he knew he shouldn’t have uttered it as she smirked and stepped towards him. She pressed her body against his and looked up at him, expectantly, whispering, “Good.”

 

But he hesitated, shook his head and tried to pull away in one final effort to stop what he knew would only end in hurt. She grabbed his arm as he moved to leave and he stilled, incapable of abandoning her while her soft fingers closed around him as if they were a vice around his heart.

 

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

 

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he replied, but even as he said it he was glancing back at her longingly. “But losing you again would...”

 

Like the man pushed beyond breaking point that he was, the words were lost as he took her mouth in a kiss, his arms resting on her waist as he pushed his body against hers and abandoned his reason.

 

She stilled for a moment, before her hands slipped up his biceps and finally found their place wrapped around his shoulders. When she opened up to his hungry, wanting tongue, he pulled her closer and angled his head to deepen the kiss, his reason clouded by his desire. But he forced himself to pull away and release her, his eyes gazing at her with such a longing, desperate love that he knew there could never have been any way he could turn her down.

 

“Arlath, ma vhenan,” he whispered and he moved to turn away and leave but she grabbed his arm again and pushed him against the window of her quarters, his knees hitting the windowsill as he found himself with her in his embrace again and her lips on his.

 

He kissed her without abandon, his tongue curling with hers as his hands cupped her face and his fingers lost themselves in her hair. The glass was cold and icy behind him but his love had been burning for her for centuries and it overwhelmed the discomfort tenfold. When she pulled back, gasped for breath and stared, longingly, into his eyes he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, claimed another fleeting kiss from her lips and sighed helplessly.

 

He held her in his arms, their foreheads pressed against one another, for what might have been hours until she pulled away and returned, reluctantly, to the war room. And he watched her leave with a vulnerable lost smile and he realised that afternoon that he was a fool to ever think he could have resisted her.

 

To her it would have been the sweetest success to finally break through his barriers and lift the mask he’d so stubbornly tried to maintain. But to him, it was like falling in love with her all over again.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I would like to show you a beautiful piece of artwork a lovely friend of mine has drawn! It is of the throne/hair cutting scene and can be found here! http://istis.tumblr.com/post/109583282563/i-am-sooo-sorry-brelakor-i-will-make-it-look
> 
> And again, thank you so much for the support each and every one of you give :) I appreciate it so much!

It was a wasted evening that he’d spent alone in the gardens.

 

Solas had done nothing but sit amongst the trees while the sun went down after dinner, a book resting abandoned in his lap as he stared into the sky and mulled over his thoughts. Frequently they landed on Lavellan. He was still coming to terms with accepting that he’d given into being with her again and while it flooded him with warmth every time she stepped towards him and kissed his cheek or smiled in his direction, when she was gone from his sights he was filled with a far different emotion.

 

When he was left to his own thoughts they drifted again and again to how wrong it was that he still deceived her, and if not that, then how this would affect his plans because bringing her into them the first time had killed her.

 

As the sun dimmed over the mountain peaks his eyes fluttered closed, the distant music from the tavern lulling him into a half sleep and allowing his thoughts to drift.

 

Memories flooded him of the years he’d spent alone, both in the waking world and beyond, thinking that she was dead for so long and being taunted every time he slept by the images of her lifeless body. With a frown he shifted where he laid in the gardens, his mind racing and refusing to wake as his thoughts tormented him.

 

Over and over a voice, so warped to reflect Andruil from his hatred of the goddess, taunted him of how Lavellan couldn’t be real, of how he didn’t deserve to have her back again and how, given everything, she really wasn’t the same. His fears conjured images in his mind of what might happen if she never remembered her past, and how long he could handle living in a lie. But every scene that flashed before him always ended the same, with the realisation that she couldn’t be real after everything that had happened and, perhaps, he’d been living in a fantasy delusion the entire time. As if everything that had happened up until that point was a wishful dream he’d conjured up in Uthenera to ease his aching heart.

 

When a pair of soft hands cupped his cheek he jolted awake with a gasp, his eyes tearing across the surroundings haphazardly until they landed on Lavellan. The sight of her knelt beside him did little to calm his nerves, even when she whispered his name, and he pulled back from her, shaking his head, because the images were still taunting and flashing before his eyes even in the waking world.

 

“It can’t be you,” he murmured and with a pained smile she angled his face towards hers and held his gaze.

 

“Solas, calm down,” she whispered and her thumb ran over his cheek as she spoke. “I’m real.”

 

“How?” It came as little more than a breath of air slipped between his lips and she frowned at him as he stared, disbelieving and broken, at her.

 

Her confusion deepened and he glanced away, desperate to avoid her suspicion. Mercifully she didn’t press the subject and pressed her forehead to his. A sigh fell from his lips as he brought his hands up to rest against her arms and she tilted her head, catching his mouth in a soft kiss before she pulled back and sat down next to him.

 

“Come here,” she urged with a gesture at her lap. A small smile stole over his features as he laid down and pressed his head against her legs like he’d done so many times in Arlathan.

 

Her hands slipped around him to rest against his chest and he ran his fingers absentmindedly over her mark as they sat in silence. The magic from his orb pulsed from her skin and when he concentrated on it he could have lost himself in the power radiating from her. Softly, he pressed a kiss to the unnatural scar that ran the length of her palm, the mark tingling against his lips and glowing gently under his influence.

 

As the last inches of the sun disappeared over the horizon darkness crept up on them and he slipped a hand out of her grasp. Summoning a small ball of light in his fingers he sent it floating up into the air where it hovered a few metres above the ground and lit up the surroundings with a soft blue glow. With a few more bursts of magic he added more globes into the air until the gardens were dotted with them shining against the darkness. The light reflected off their skin and cast eerie shadows against their features.

 

“Where did you learn that?” Lavellan asked after a moment and he glanced up to catch how she stared, wide eyed and curious, at the globes lighting up their surroundings like wisps. “I’ve never seen magic like it before.”

 

“In dreams of course, where else? Magic like this was common place in Arlathan.”

 

“Teach me.”

 

“If you like.” He caught both her hands in his own once more and held them so that her palms faced up towards the sky. “Pull your magic into a ball of pure energy and hold it there for a moment.”

 

She obeyed his instructions but she had trouble condensing the light into a small globe. He helped her by adjusting her hands around and making her tighten the ball until it was neat and glowing intensely.

 

 

“Like this.” 

 

He urged her to raise her hands and release the wisp-like sphere into the air. The globe lifted from her palm and floated beside them, joining the dozen others that he’d created that evening, lighting up the gardens like stars in the sky. Some of them caught and stuck against tree branches and bushes.

 

If he could have stayed there in her embrace for years to come he would have. Words could not do justice to what it felt to him to be able to freely love her again; he’d suppressed it for so long that it meant everything to be able to tell her he cared. After several long moments, her voice graced his ears and his brow tugged into a frown at what she said.

 

“Why did you push me away for so long?”

 

He toyed with the idea of denying that he had, of giving her the excuse that in the middle of trying to save the world it was not the ideal time to start a relationship. And yet he did neither of these things as he felt part of the truth, however convoluted and twisted, well up in his throat.

 

 “I lost two people that meant a great deal to me many years ago,” he offered softly. “One of them was taken because my enemies knew it would break me.”

 

“You think it would happen again?” As she spoke her hands slipped to the sides of his head, cupping his jaw and tracing absentmindedly over his skin.

 

“I know it would if they knew about you,” he replied softly.

 

Their only saving grace was that, for a time, she was safe from Andruil and Elgar’nan while he didn’t have the power to fulfil his plans. It was selfish of him but he would love Lavellan with everything he had while she was still protected. And when it came to the point where he had to follow through with his plans to right his past wrongs, then he would deal with his dangerous affections for her then. Until that moment, he would live in blissful ignorance however much he knew it was wrong.

 

“They can’t be any worse than Corypheus.” How much she didn’t know that the elven god’s were far, far worse than the magister pretender would ever be.

 

“They would certainly try to be,” he muttered bitterly and tilted his head back the slightest in her lap to catch her gaze. “If not in power, then certainly in ambition and ruthlessness.”

 

“Now you’re just being grim and fatalistic to try and make me kiss you, aren’t you?”

 

“I would never,” he protested with a soft chuckle as he reached up and cupped her face in his hands. “But I wouldn’t protest if you do.”

 

A flash of a grin across her features and then she was leaning down towards him and finding his lips with hers. The globes of light surrounding them reflected off her white hair and it fell around him like a curtain to block out the rest of the world. He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth, suckled and toyed until she shifted and pushed her hot tongue into his open mouth.

 

Her fingers moved to the sides of his smooth head, dug and raked across his skin in a way so eerily similar to how she’d done it in Arlathan. It tore a soft moan from his throat and he leant up out of her lap to hang onto the last fleeting brushes against his lips that she would offer him. Then, as she stared down at him with flushed features and softly panting, he shifted his hand until he could trace the fine lines of her vallaslin over her forehead, the curve of her cheek and finally over her lips and chin.

 

“That’s not the only place they run,” she teased and a small part of him was intrigued at her suggestion, but far more so that he was haunted by the slave markings that adorned her again.

 

“You certainly are... dedicated... to Mythal,” he replied slowly and when her brow tugged into a frown he dismissed the conversation with a soft, “Enough, it is late.”

 

Pushing himself out of her lap he moved to stand, but she caught his hand and made him hesitate.

 

“Stay,” she whispered and he paused for a moment, searched her features but his lips were pulling into a smile before he’d even moved back to her.

 

Lying down against the grass she slipped under his arm and curled into his side, her head pressed against his chest and her eyes fluttering shut. For moments after she fell asleep he held her, staring at the sky and pointlessly twining his fingers in her hair.

 

When sleep finally took finally took him he slept the soundest he’d done since the day he awoke in this strange world.

 

\---

 

It was the bright rays of the sun spilling over the mountains that tugged him from sleep. So strongly they shined on him that Solas squinted and raised a hand to block out the light as he gingerly opened his eyes.

 

The orbs from the previous evening were fading, useless in the light of day and the magic sustaining them wasting away after the hours that they’d spent sleeping. Lavellan was still curled against his side, her hands splayed against his sweater and her chest rising, gently, with each breath she pulled past her lips while she still slept. His fingers were tangled in her hair and he bent forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

 

At his affection her nose wrinkled but she didn’t wake, and she shifted in his arms to bury into the crook of his neck and block out the sun. A smile pulled at his lips and he stared up at the bright sunlight breaking through the trees in the gardens, until the sound of footsteps reached his ears and made the tips of them twitch ever so gently.

 

“Solas?” He glanced up and found Cassandra staring down at him with a frown painting her sharp features. “Are you and the Inquisitor-”

 

“We... are,” he interrupted gently.

 

“I see.”

 

Cassandra’s lips pursed as she held his gaze and with a faint furrow of his brow Solas continued with, “I would appreciate it if you might keep it to yourself.”

 

She nodded and he gave her a grateful look. He didn’t for one moment suspect that the rest of their nosey companions wouldn’t eventually catch onto his relationship with Lavellan, but if he could keep it discreet for as long as possible he would have preferred it.

 

Rumours tearing throughout Skyhold unbidden was the last thing he needed.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... kind of subscribe to the 'I wanted to wear a dress to Halamshiral' thing, sorry ahahaha :)
> 
> As always, thank you for the support <3

The human’s idea of clothes appropriate to wear at court amused Solas.

 

They expected him to wear to Halamshiral these, what exactly could he describe it as? A suit with a sash around it and a ridiculous hat? The clothes he’d once worn to court in Arlathan where leagues different from what he was shrugging into now.

 

In the ancient times he’d worn robes, extravagant and made of silk and adorned with gold and jewels. When he was younger, he’d left the front hanging open because he had such little shame. Then, as he matured, he did them up properly. Once upon a time he’d worn a pendant around his forehead, threaded ribbons and coils of gold and silver in his dreadlocks.

 

And now he was wearing this... suit thing. Solas supposed it was comfortable enough as he pulled the vest over his shoulders, and it was made to exquisite quality. But how he didn’t miss from time to time the beauty and intrigue that was so pervasive in the ancient elven court.

 

He’d just managed to shrug into the entirety of his clothes when the door to his room smashed open. Looking up just in time, he saw Lavellan scurry towards him barefoot and draped in a dress made of flowing silk and chiffon.

 

“Hide me,” she hissed and it took him a long moment to process what she’d said because his eyes trailed and locked onto what she was wearing.

 

The dress was beautiful and flooded her legs with streams of fabric from the tight pulled waistline. It pushed her breasts up, accentuated them and curled down her arms with ribbons that hung from her wrists. The material was coloured silver and white and glinted with gemstones studded into the chiffon layers. He gaped because it reminded him of the clothes he’d seen so many times over in Arlathan, and he wondered if it had been intentional to dress her as such. When she started to climb up the ladder to the platform where he sometimes painted from, it drew him from his thoughts and he frowned.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Hiding,” she replied in a hushed voice. “They’re trying to make me wear heels.”

 

“By _they_ I will presume you mean Leliana and Josephine.”

 

“And Vivienne,” Lavellan groaned. “They ambushed me.”

 

Solas’ lips tugged into a smile. “I’m sure you’re overreacting.”

 

“I am not!” With some difficulty in the dress she was wearing, she managed to pull herself up onto the platform without ripping any holes in the fabric. “ _Heels_ , Solas! What if I have to climb a trellis?”

 

“Take them off?”

 

She scoffed at him. “That’s what Leliana said.” The sound of the door to his quarters creaking open made her squeak in surprise and she threw a frantic look at him and hissed, “Don’t tell them I’m here!”

 

He rolled his eyes but obliged her insistence when Josephine burst into his room. Stepping towards her, he blocked her casually at the entrance to his quarters and asked, politely, “Can I assist you, Ambassador?”

 

“Have you seen the Inquisitor?”

 

“I have not seen anyone since you gave me these clothes several hours ago,” he lied effortlessly.

 

Josephine frowned as if she were trying to decide if she believed him or not. Then, with a huff, she stomped away and Solas heard a loud sigh of relief from Lavellan. Walking back into his room, he paused at the bottom of the ladder to the platform and glanced up at her.

 

“ _Heels_ ,” she whined plaintively and he shook his head at her with a small smile.

 

“Come down from there,” he urged gently, “You’ll get paint on your dress.”

 

“I can’t,” she mumbled and he arched a single eyebrow at her. “I’ll rip the fabric.”

 

“Then jump and I’ll catch you,” he offered.

 

She grinned at him for a split second and he offered his arms out to her. Carefully, she positioned herself on the edge of the platform and leapt into his arms.

 

He used magic to break her fall but she still landed on him with enough force to push him into the floor, and as his back hit the cold tile he grunted softly. Lavellan didn’t seem overly concerned however, because she rested her arms on his chest and stared at him with bright joyful eyes. As his hands slipped up to run over her arms and shoulders, she leant in and kissed him gently at first but when he returned the affection she became more insistent and wanting.

 

When her fingers slipped to the buttons on his shirt and tried to undo them he pushed her back with gentle hands clasped around her shoulders.

 

“Don’t ask that of me,” he whispered and slipped a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He realised then that they’d threaded gold chains and beads of gemstones through her tresses that glinted in the light. “I love you, ma vhenan, but that isn’t something I can give you.”

 

Wide violet eyes stared at him for a moment, trying to read his thoughts from his expression but he simply traced his thumb over her cheek and lower lip affectionately. Then she nodded, pressed a quick kiss to his mouth and pulled herself up.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her, because he had not spent months trying to suppress his desires only to forget them in that moment, but far more that he couldn’t ever forgive himself if he bedded her while he deceived her. However much she might say she wanted it, it would nag and ruin him to think she wasn’t consenting to it fully because she didn’t know the truth. He’d only just managed to accept his guilt for letting himself love her openly, and to take it that step further would break him.

 

“Are they really trying to make you wear this?” Lavellan asked and it jolted him from his thoughts and drew his attention to her. She was holding the helmet Josephine had given him with a look of disgust painting her features. “No. You are not wearing this.”

 

“The Ambassador was quite adamant I should,” Solas offered with a shrug as he stood.

 

“ _No_.” Lavellan scowled at the offending thing as if it was a personal affront to her. “It’s not even fitted properly; the nose piece will cut through your skin.”

 

With a little chuckle, he replied with, “If you insist.”

 

“I do. I insist very much.” She chucked the helmet up in the air, presumably to discard it, but rather she ended up throwing it over the balcony and hitting someone in the head, judging by the surprised shout that followed. When Dorian peeked over the edge and glowered down at them, Lavellan grinned sheepishly and pointed quickly at Solas. “It was him!”

 

“It was _not_ ,” Solas protested and his lips pulled into a smirk as he considered for a moment.

 

Maybe it was her influence after he’d let himself be with her again, but he caught her by the waist and found the spot under her arms that he remembered once upon a time as being so ticklish. She squealed and squirmed in his hold, kicked her legs and cried out for mercy, and somewhere above them Solas heard Dorian laugh and mutter something about how _cute_ they were.

 

That brought a frown to Solas’ features. The Dread Wolf was not _cute_.

 

\---

 

Lavellan managed to evade Josephine’s insistence that she wear heels up until the point when they arrived at the Winter Palace. She dodged the Ambassador in Skyhold and went the entire journey in the carriage barefoot beside Solas.

 

For Solas himself, it felt odd to wear shoes. Unnatural even, but he put up with it. When they arrived at the palace Josephine very near accosted Lavellan with a pair of heels before she could even leave her carriage.

 

“Put these on, Inquisitor,” Josephine insisted and shoved the shoes into her lap.

 

“No, I have managed just fine without shoes all my life and I am not wearing them now,” Lavellan replied stubbornly and crossed her arms against her chest.

 

“I will not let you be the laughing stock of the court by walking in there with nothing on your feet!” Josephine almost screeched.

 

Solas, mercifully, took it upon himself to take the offending shoes in his hands and softly chide his lover with, “Vhenan, please.” Then, softer so that only she would hear him, he added, “Before Josephine has an aneurysm.”

 

Lavellan pouted for a long moment, and then, with a drawn out, plaintive sigh, she held her foot out and allowed him to slip her shoes on. He obliged as Josephine stalked off in a huff, his slender fingers running over her calves a moment longer than necessary as he put her heels on for her. Then, when he was finished, he slipped out of the carriage and held his hand up to her. She accepted his gesture and allowed him to help her to the ground.

 

They were still a way out of from the main palace, so he took the opportunity to slip his arm around her waist and pull her against his side. He stole a flower from a nearby bush and pushed it behind her ear, pressed a kiss to her cheek and told her she was beautiful before moving away and approaching the gates.

 

Inside the palace he wouldn’t be able to show his love for her without ruining her cover.

 

\---

 

“Have I mentioned-”

 

A pause in the annoyed muttering that was gracing his ears as he approached the balcony.

 

“-How much I hate-”

 

The voice continued and Solas stepped into the doorway just in time to hear Lavellan shout, “Politics!” and throw her heel at him. Or at least, he presumed it wasn’t personally directed at him, because she cringed as he ducked to avoid the errant shoe and mumbled an apology.

 

“I can echo the sentiment,” he replied as he approached her. He’d thought he might find her there after the mess with Florianne and the Empress. “As much as I enjoy the intrigue of court, the bureaucracy has made me want to rip someone’s throat out on more than one occasion.” 

 

Pulling off her other shoe she glanced at him as she dropped it casually over the side of the balcony. “When have you been at court?”

 

Features paled at her comment and he scrambled for words to twist into lies. Carefully, with his expression calmed and indifferent, he offered, “I speak from experience visiting memories in the Fade.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

A long pause stretched between them and in that time Lavellan sighed and leant forward against the railing. To look at her in the moonlight that evening adorned in a dress that clung to her frame with sweeping fabrics of silver, it reminded him so much of times gone past. With her hair studded with gemstones and golden rings, he could have forgotten, for a moment, where they were and pretended they were back in Arlathan. Not that any would have dreamed of inviting her to court but to serve others as a slave, but seeing her mimicking so easily the dresses the nobles had once worn made him nostalgic.

 

“This entire night has been one big joke,” she grumbled eventually. “And I had to climb a damn trellis.” A split second pause and her features contorted into frustration before she shouted into the empty night air, “Fen’Harel take the lot of you!”

 

A soft, barely audible, choking noise escaped him but she didn’t hear it while she glowered at the balcony railing. With a hand curling around her shoulder he caught her attention and when she glanced up at him he smiled, gently, as he said, “I think you need to calm down, vhenan.”

 

  
Stepping away from her he extended his hand and before she had the chance to reply, he added, “Come, before the band stops playing. Dance with me.”

 

She hesitated, her features pulling into frown but it disappeared in seconds as a smile pulled at her lips. Moving towards him she placed her hand in his and he slipped an arm around her waist.

 

Under the stars he danced with her until the every inch of the frustration build up in her body washed away. 


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes that I can think of for this chapter, other than... thank you for reading this <3

He sat on the platform in his quarters, one of his legs dangling off the side and his back twisted towards the wall as he painted the stone. He used a mixture of brushes and his fingers to smudge and texture lines. As such, Solas’ hands were covered in wet and half dried paints.

 

Lavellan sat beside him, her legs crossed and watching as he worked. Her eyes traced every movement of his slender fingers, caught the curve and furrow of his brow and in his concentration her presence slipped his mind entirely. It was only when he pulled back from the wall to observe his work that he caught her sight in the corner of his eye and turned to face her.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she told him and her fingers were stained with paints from the mess he’d made against the platform. Still, her clothes were not even close to being as dirty as his was.

  
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

 

With a tilt of her head she looked at him, curiously, her gaze trailing over his angular features before catching on the scar that marred his brow. Long fingers reaching forward, she traced the blemish, her touch leaving flecks of wet paint against his forehead. “How did you get this?”

 

“Are you really so curious?”

 

Violet eyes lit up as she asked, “Is it embarrassing?”

 

He frowned at her and replied, carefully, with, “I lost my footing once many years ago and hit my head on a desk.”

 

“That’s... not as interesting as I thought it would be,” she grumbled and slipped her touch from his features.

 

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you.” She didn’t need to know the finer details of how he’d gotten it, namely that it’d been with her hungry and wanting in his arms that had made him trip in the first place. With a frown, he pointed out, “You got paint on me.”

 

She grinned at him and with a shake of his head and the flash of a dark mischievous look over his features; he grabbed her chin with one of his hands and smeared paint across her cheeks. A laugh spilt from her lips and she tried to pull away but his hold was too strong and she was covered in a mixture of colours in moments.

 

With a grin he pressed his forehead against hers, the tip of their noses touching as he gazed hopelessly into her eyes. Tilting her head, she moved to brush her lips over his but pulled away abruptly when a soft voice told them they were no longer alone.

 

“Inquisitor? Forgive me the interruption-” Leliana paused and her features were so twisted and saddened it made Solas fear what was to pass next through her lips. “You will want to see this.”

 

Offering the paper in her hands to Lavellan, his lover edged down off the platform and took the letter from Leliana’s grasp. Before she’d even unwrapped it, the spymaster whispered an apology and slipped away silently. Lavellan hardly noticed her absence as she trailed her gaze over the words printed before her, and Solas frowned as he watched her reaction.

 

Her features started in surprise and then, second by second, twisted and morphed into anguish and distress. He was moving to the edge of the platform, lowering himself onto the ground and moving towards her in moments. He reached her in time to catch her as her knees gave out beneath her and he held her, trembling and shaking in his arms, as the tears started to fall.

 

\---

 

Her clan was not simply gone, it was obliterated and extinct. Solas tried to comfort her but she soon shut him and the rest of her companions out.

 

For days he let Lavellan grieve and respected her wishes to be alone, but when Leliana approached him that morning and informed him, gently, that she was missing, he started to worry. Leliana’s scouts tracked Lavellan to the derelict temple of Dirthamen that they’d explored weeks earlier and with Cassandra and Dorian by his side, Solas approached the ruin to search for their leader.

 

The moment he stepped into the dank halls he felt uneasy. The first time had been bad enough, traversing through the temple of a god he’d personally betrayed. The walls reeked of magic that tingled over his skin and it felt as if Dirthamen’s ire was judging him for every step he took further into the ruin. The trickle of water and overgrown plants clinging to the walls highlighted the neglect that had been festering in the halls for centuries upon centuries.

 

Once upon a time Solas had walked through here when Dirthamen still ruled. It had been beautiful then, yet now it was abandoned and prey to scavengers and looters. Even after all the god of secret’s had done to inadvertently fan the flames of the slavery that permeated so strongly in Arlathan, Solas did feel a small tinge of regret for the state his temple had ended up in.

 

But he stifled the feeling as he searched the halls with his companions for Lavellan. His feet were soaked from the wet damp floor by the time they found her huddled in the central chamber. At the door to the room, Solas hesitated and glanced at his companions.

 

“Give me a moment,” he asked softly and Cassandra nodded and urged Dorian away.

 

With a measure of privacy that their absence left him, Solas approached Lavellan. He stepped before her and she spared him a small glance before staring back at her hands cupped in her lap. Kneeling down before her against the cold floor, he reached out and trailed his palm up her arm until he reached her jaw.

 

“They’re gone,” she whispered eventually but she pressed against his hand as he ran his thumb over her cheek. Her violet eyes pulled from her hands and tore around the room, the shimmering veilfire braziers reflecting off them in the darkness. “I used to pray to Dirthamen when I was young, but I never heard anything.”

 

Her features flashed with anger and a spell loosened unbidden at her fingertips as her control over her magic wavered. With a burst of raw power she sent a tarnished vase balancing on a pedestal nearby slamming into a wall. It shattered noisily and he winced ever so slightly.

 

“Why would I ever hear anything from the god’s after what the Dread Wolf did to them,” she added bitterly and it was far more a statement than a question.

 

“Why bring this up now?” he asked softly and her features twisted into such a vicious scowl that he slipped his hand from her face and pulled back the slightest bit.

 

“Because he’s the reason my clan never truly trusted me.” When his brow pulled into the faintest of frowns her features faltered for a moment into anguish and hurt, before hardening once more as she continued with, “I used to dream of him every night when I was younger.”

 

“I’m sure most of the Dalish have nightmares of the one they blame for their fall from grace,” he offered gently to reassure her but she shook her head with a bitter laugh.

 

“The Dread Wolf stalks the dreams of _every_ Dalish at some point in their life, but this was different.” She paused and sighed deeply, a hand reaching up to push her hair out of her features and pinch the bridge of her nose. “I was nineteen and I’d been close to one of the hunters, Phaeris, in my clan for years before that. We’d grown up together as friends, but there was always more to it than that.”

 

Somewhere deep inside him a flame of jealousy was ignited at her words but he schooled his expression as she continued bitterly.

 

“He kissed me in the woods one day and asked for my hand in marriage and I agreed, but-”

 

For a long moment she glowered at the ground but through her anger he saw the hurt she tried so hard to push down and hide.

 

“But I started to dream about Fen’Harel constantly after that day,” she continued softly. “It wasn’t the same as when I was a child, it wasn’t the beast of black fur and glowing red eyes, it was the man himself.” Again a surge of wild magic pooled at her fingertips and he reached forward, cupping her hands in his own and stilling the wavering spell before she lost control of her powers again. “Every night he would try to kiss and seduce me; it... ruined our relationship when Phaeris found out. He never looked at me again in the same way.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Solas offered weakly because in truth he had no other words to offer her.

 

It was his fault her relationship with the hunter had broken down. Even if he hadn’t wilfully given her the dreams she’d experienced, he had still been her lover so long ago and however convoluted and twisted it was, her suppressed memories of him had conjured the visions that had led to her heartbreak.

 

“The keeper helped me block the dreams out eventually but it hardly mattered,” she continued softly. “None of the clan trusted me the same afterwards, I was always a liability in their eyes for how the Dread Wolf had tried to corrupt me, and now... they’re dead.”

 

Her brow pulled into a frown and she glanced up at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears that reflected in the dim light. Her expression was pleading and vulnerable as she whispered, “Please tell me you aren’t going to leave me because of the Dread Wolf like he did.”

 

“Why would I?” To reassure her, he ran his fingers over her palm gently. “You know I don’t put faith in the god’s like you do, and far less would I ever let Fen’Harel hurt you.”

 

A small smile tugged at her lips and then she was leaning forward and into his arms. He cradled her in his embrace as she buried her forehead into his shoulder. With his hands running idle patterns against her back she shuddered and let the tears she’d been holding back fall, and he held her for as long as she needed until the hurt for the rejection and death of her clan was dimmed.

 

Later, he urged her gently that the ruins they sat in weren’t particularly safe and with a wipe at her reddened eyes she agreed and let him lead her to the entrance. There, leaning against the wall, they found Dorian and Cassandra waiting for them.

 

Lavellan frowned at their presence, parted her lips to speak but Dorian closed the distance between them in a few long strides and pulled her into his arms. She stilled at first but moments later curled her arms around his back and returned the embrace with a soft smile on her features.

 

When they parted Dorian ruffled her white hair and grinned at her as he murmured, “Chin up, you’re still stuck with the rest of the Inquisition as your family.”

 

A small laugh fell from her lips and she shook her head. Then, with a hand pressed gently against the small of her back, Solas urged her out of Dirthamen’s temple and back to Skyhold. 


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter annoyed me a bit and I'm not completely happy with it but I couldn't really work out why so... just going to post it anyway :) Hope it's not so bad! The next few chapters to come I'm much more pleased with! Thanks again for the support <3

The situation at the temple of Mythal made Solas nervous at best and trying desperately to hide his abject terror at worst.

 

To see Abelas again after so many years was curious, because the man had hardly changed at all even after so many centuries, and yet the very sight of the sentinel threatened to unravel the disguise Solas had spent months crafting to hide himself. His only saving grace was that Abelas seemed far too caught up in the situation with the Well of Sorrows and Corypheus to pay Solas more than a split second of attention. But the moments when he did converse with the sentinel, Abelas stared at him with a frown on his features as if he were desperately trying to place where he knew the other man from.

 

Solas’ uneasiness at being discovered vanished the moment it was suggested that Lavellan could drink from the Well instead of Morrigan. To think of her binding herself to one of his kin horrified him, even if it was Mythal, because he had not come so far to free her from slavery to watch her wilfully submit herself to another person for eternity.

 

To his horror, she informed her companions she would do it for her people and the Inquisition, and as she moved towards the pool, Solas stepped forward and grabbed her by the crook of her arm.

 

“Ma vhenan,” he started and she glanced up at him, confusion tugging at her features at the pleading look that stained his own. “Don’t do this; you cannot understand what you ask for.”

 

“Do you prefer the alternate?” A frown formed at her brow as she spoke and he hoped it meant that he could convince her not to undertake the madness she was considering. “That Morrigan drink it?”

 

“The only alternative I prefer is that you not bind yourself to another person for the rest of your life,” he replied and his eyes searched her face for some kind of hope to cling to that she wouldn’t give herself to a goddess, but in return he only found that familiar determination, however marred by hesitation, and he knew then she would go through with it.

 

Slipping from his grasp she reached for his hand, squeezed him reassuringly and then stepped to face the Well with a resolute expression despite how much her chewing at her lip betrayed her hesitation.

 

 “Please,” he started and he tried to follow her but Abelas stopped him moving any closer to the Well while she dipped her toe into the waters. In barely more than a whisper, he added, “I can’t lose you again,” and as he did so a burst of magic wrapped around the woman he loved so much and he watched, horrified, as the power from the Well washed over her.

 

A purple grey haze enveloped Lavellan and he barely made out her form when she cupped the waters in her hands and drank them. Lost in the swirling magic, it was all he could do to hear her cry echo through the halls of the room as the power of the ages engulfed her. Blue eyes widened in apprehension and Abelas’ hold over him faltered as the sentinel stared, curious but shocked as the Well consumed Lavellan.

 

Then, in a wave of magic that sent ripples through the air and lashes across his mind, the haze vanished. Lavellan was falling to the floor, her body limp and eyes closed and Solas was running to her before the others could stop him. With his feet gliding over the now dry stone of the Well he caught her in his arms and cradled her in his embrace. She stiffened after several moments, her body bristling with power and she pulled back from him to stare into his gaze, her violet eyes unfocused and glowing with magic as if she was looking through him and into the dark recesses of his soul.

 

When her lips parted she murmured words to him in the ancient language, her tongue curling around her speech with the finesse and grace that she’d only ever shown in Arlathan compared to her clunky awkward elven that she offered in these times.

 

“My rebel wolf,” she started and in that moment there was a clarity in her eyes he’d been missing in months, as if she saw past his barriers and, for once, actually _understood_. “Why do you hide behind masks as if I never loved the man you bury beneath the lies?”

 

“You wouldn’t have believed me because you didn’t remember,” was his response and it came in little more than a whisper that could barely be heard, even by her. But just as quickly as the woman she’d once been broke through, the magic pulsing through her body vanished and her eyes dulled. As if it were a prayer passing through his lips, he added softly, “Lavellan?”

 

“Solas,” she breathed but her gaze caught on something behind him and he turned to pinpoint what had stolen her attention.

 

Corypheus had reached the room they stood in, vile loathing marring his features as he advanced on his prey. Lavellan’s skin bristled with power once more from the Well, glowing magic streaking every inch of her flesh and Abelas was shouting at them, desperately, to leave.

 

Solas’ eyes hesitated on the sentinel, and for the briefest of moments he held Abelas’ gaze, the other man’s brow furrowing and his features twisting in such a way that made Solas wonder how much the sentinel had started to suspect. But for whatever Lavellan’s confession moments earlier had made Abelas wonder, Corypheus raged towards them before the sentinel had the opportunity to question Solas’ identity.

 

With a puff of smoke Abelas disappeared as easily as he and his kin and appeared in the first place, and Morrigan urged them to the eluvian as Lavellan surged a spell through the air with the power the Well had granted her. One of Mythal’s guardians rose from the empty pool and blocked Corypheus as they escaped through the mirror.

 

It was a haphazard and messy travel through the crossroads and they stumbled through the eluvian into Skyhold with little grace or finesse. Mercifully, though, Morrigan sealed the mirror behind them with a wave of magic from her hands and it was then that Solas turned to Lavellan.

 

What he found was his lover cowering on the floor, her head cradled in her hands and a cry tearing from her lips as her body danced with uncontrolled power.

 

\---

 

For the way that her body thrashed against the floor, he carried her from the room with the eluvian in it and to her quarters.  At least on her bed Lavellan could only tangle herself in the sheets and throw her head back against the mattress. With her eyes squeezed shut she lashed out, her back arching against the bed and jolts of electricity bursting across her skin.

 

“Why couldn’t she let me drink from the Well?” Morrigan muttered and Solas glowered at her for her insensitivity.

 

“You aren’t helping,” he hissed as he approached Lavellan cautiously, because even from metres away he could feel the power tingling over his senses as if Mythal herself was there in the room with them.

 

After several moments the spell consuming her dulled and she fell back against the bed, her body stilled even if the stench of magic still hung in the air like a thick heavy cloud. Solas snapped at his companions to leave and they obliged. It was then, alone in the room with his lover, that he sat on the edge of the bed and reached towards her.

 

The moment his fingers passed within the shimmer of power that radiated from her skin, the Well’s influence curled and latched onto him. Tendrils snaked out like a vice, binding him into the magic enveloping her and blinding his vision. In his mind he saw flashes of ancient memories, a muddled mess of both their lives played before him in excruciating detail in the space of moments.

 

It was maddening to be witness to, to have the experiences of hundreds of years condensed into seconds and he gasped as he tried to wrench himself away to spare him the insanity the spell was bringing upon him. With his teeth grinding together he jerked back, and it was agony to pull himself from the magic as if his mind was being rent asunder as he forcibly tried to regain control over himself again.

 

He managed if only through his force of will, but his head ached for minutes afterwards and it took him a long moment to pull his gaze up to Lavellan again. Her brow was furrowed but by far what horrified him the most was the red stain forming against her chest. Blood was seeping into her robes from the same location where Andruil had torn her heart out so many years ago, and her hair had flashed back to the copper brown colour he’d been so familiar with in Arlathan.

 

Panicked, he shouted her name but it made little difference. Then, with her features twisted into determination he felt the spell surrounding her pull back as she bound and leashed it under her will. As quickly as it had happened, the blood pooling on her chest stopped spreading and her hair turned back to a stark white. It was then, with her eyes fluttering open, that he snapped.

 

To stop himself from lashing out at her physically in his anger, he removed himself from her bed, pacing furiously in her room as his words dripped from his lips like furious venom. “I begged you not to drink from the Well, why could you not have listened!”

 

It was less a question than a statement, an expression of his fury at what she’d subjected herself to and she recoiled at the anger in his words, her violet eyes wide in shock.

 

“You know why I had to do it,” she replied eventually and her voice was tinged with the stubbornness he wished so much she didn’t have.

 

“You gave yourself in service to an ancient elven god!” he spat.

 

“Solas-”

 

“You are Mythal’s creature now, nothing you do will ever be the same,” he interrupted and his words faltered to betray the anguish her decision was causing him. With his face buried in his hands he took a long deep sigh, and then gazed at her brokenly as he added, “I did not come this far, after everything, to lose you like... _this_.”

 

For a moment her features twisted into regret, but no sooner had they turned to judgement as she snapped, “ _You_ don’t even believe in the ancient elven gods.”

 

“I believe they existed, but not that they deserve your worship! And you _bound_ yourself to one of them.” He stopped his pacing to stare at her, his expression pleading that she understand the severity of her actions and wishing he’d done more to stop her at the temple. His anger got the better of him, and he was adding bitterly to himself in moments, “ _Why?_ Is it not enough that I have suffered through in my life without this added to it?”

 

He shouted a curse and as he did so a wave of magic bristled over his skin, uncontrolled in his fury but he reined it in because he knew losing his control would hardly help the situation. At noticing his reaction, Lavellan slipped from her bed and stepped towards him, her brow furrowed and her words soft and gentle as they slipped past her lips.

 

“I’m still the same.”

 

 “You aren’t,” he replied brokenly and he pulled away from her touch as she reached for his hand. “You will never be...”

 

Hurt flashed across her features momentarily at his reaction, but her gaze locked onto her robes moments later and confusion splashed over her face as her eyes found the scarlet staining her clothes. “Where did this blood come from?”

 

“How should I know? You are the one that drank from the Well, not I. Do you-” He hesitated as he wondered, for a moment, if her temporary lapse into the way she’d been when Andruil killed her might have awakened the memories he sought so hard to resurface. Gingerly, he asked, “What do you see in your mind?”

 

“It’s a mess,” she started with a frown, “I can’t make sense of most of it and they’re flitting too fast for me to grasp onto the thoughts in my head.” 

 

“Of course,” he replied bitterly with a scowl, “Why should I expect any different? Fate has never given me any favours in the past.”

 

“Solas...” His name slipped from her lips in little more than a whisper, and that time when she reached for his hand he did not pull back.

 

With her forehead bowed against his he sighed, defeated, “Why could you not have _listened_?”

 

Later, when she told him how she’d use the power she’d been granted to try and better the world than it was, she pulled a small smile to his lips. For everything that had happened in this broken twisted life he’d lived, it brought him a small measure of hope to think she might do some good with the curse she’d just inflicted upon herself.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh this chapter is NSFW... Also I would like to direct you to two more amazing pieces of artwork, the first is by the ever lovely pinacoladamatata and can be found here: http://pinacoladamatata.tumblr.com/post/110407316912/i-am-not-the-one-staring-can-we-all-just-take-a
> 
> The second is by the amazing da-vhenan who is so ridiculously talented and I swear she doesn't even know how talented she is and if I could drown her in love I would, it can be found here: http://da-vhenan.tumblr.com/post/110317746205/for-brelakor-so-i-attempted-to-paint-brelakors
> 
> Again, thank you for the support of this story <3

Lavellan twisted and turned in the night.

 

Restless to the point where it woke him, Solas listened in the darkness of their tent where they camped in Crestwood as she mumbled incoherently. Her arm, flush and sweaty against his fingers told him something was wrong and with a gentle shake he woke her. He summoned a small globe of light that floated in the air between them and her white brows pulled into a frown as the clinging remnants of her slumber slowly faded.

 

“You are not sleeping soundly,” he pointed out gently, his hand trailing up her shoulder and cupping her jaw affectionately.

 

“It’s the Well, I keep seeing-” she paused and shook her head. “I need some air.”

 

She slipped out of the tent and he followed her, the cool night air brushing over his skin making him shiver and tug his clothes tighter around himself. Even if he’d conceded to letting her sleep in his arms at night he still pushed away any suggestion that it would move to anything intimate.

 

As if it was the last thing he had to offer her that he wouldn’t bed her while he lied. It made him hate himself slightly less for the deception at least, even if he did want her and had for ages gone by.

 

She left camp and he followed her until she reached the lake that bordered the farms in Crestwood. Her feet padded along the wooden planks of the pier until she reached the edge and then she sat, her toes skimming the surface of the water as he joined her. Where her hand rested on the wood he reached out, twined his fingers in hers and squeezed them reassuringly.

 

“What is it from the Well that bothers you?”

 

She’d told him little since their argument and it frustrated him to not know what was going on.

 

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she replied softly and he nodded to show his respect for her wishes. Sidelong she glanced at him, her eyes bright and reflecting the moon as she smiled hesitantly and hopefully. “Would you distract me?”

 

He was silent for a long moment and she studied him. Then, cautiously, she leant forward and pressed her lips to his. It was slow and hesitant but as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt the intentions behind her words were clear. And again, like he’d done before, he broke from her and caught her wrist, gently but insistently.

 

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered and it hurt to see the rejection in her eyes.

 

Chewing on her lip and trying in vain to hide her scorned expression, she cupped her hands in her lap and asked, softly, “Why? Do you not want me?”

 

“Of course I do,” he replied and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “More than anything I have ever wanted for in all the years I have lived.”

 

“Then why push me away?” She gazed up at him confused and he sighed with his fine brows knitted together.

 

He didn’t have a good excuse that he could tell her without arousing suspicion. In truth, he felt he owed it to her not to break the last promise he had left to give, that he wouldn’t give in to his desires while he lied to her. And yet as she sat there asking and telling him what she wanted, it wavered his resolve to breaking point.

 

He crumbled, his reason abandoning him as he leant forward and caught her lips in another kiss. The innocence and hesitation from before was lost and he pried her mouth open, brought sweet gasps from her throat as he curled his tongue around hers. He tasted her needily and she clung to the front of his clothes. With his hand, he trailed up her thigh. He didn’t realise how much he’d ached for the feel of her skin against him and her leggings felt inconvenient and thick as lead as he longed to touch her.

 

When she broke the kiss to breathe deep and heavy, a string of spit hung crudely between their lips. Through lidded eyes he stared at her flushed, reddened features until they tore into teasing confidence. With a swift, fluid movement she placed her shirt and binding on the pier and just as his eyes caught and lingered on the swell of her breasts, she pushed herself off the edge and into the water. It lapped at her waist, drenched her leggings but she hardly seemed to care as she waded away from him with a small, beckoning smile cast over her shoulder.

 

And he was discarding his upper layer of clothes so fast his fingers caught and ripped holes in the fabric.

 

He followed uncaring that water soaked through his linen breeches. When he moved towards her she smiled and floated onto her back, her hair fanning out around her like a halo and her eyes flashing up at him taunting and goading. With some difficulty he ignored the curve of her bare chest breaking the surface of the water despite how much it begged to run his hands over her flesh. Instead, he moved behind her, swept his fingers through her splayed hair and cupped her head in his palms.

 

Magic ran over her from his fingertips, keeping her afloat even as he leant forward and kissed her again. Her hands moved to his jaw, pulling him in deeper as their lips parted and their tongues danced. It stoked a primal, ancient longing in him that he’d been suppressing for months and now that he finally allowed it its freedom, his arousal strained against his wet breeches. When the kiss broke she righted herself in the water and stepped into his embrace, finding his lips again as her wet hair plastered to her face and neck.

 

It would have been impossible for her not to notice how much he longed for her and she drew a soft, keening sigh from his lips by grinding her hips against his. And yet when he pushed his thigh between her legs, rubbing at her sex, she stilled in his arms. He mirrored her as she pulled back and he saw the hesitation on her features from the way that her brow creased and she chewed at her lower lip.

 

“I’ve never been with anyone...” she started softly and she needn’t have explained more because he understood explicitly. “The dalish, they frown on intimacy outside the bonds of marriage.”

 

The revelation he would be her first, at least in this lifetime, dulled his want because for all she’d done to convince him to overcome his inhibitions over bedding her he couldn’t in good conscience take her virginity. So he stepped back, slipped from her embrace entirely and only paused when she begged for him to wait and caught his hand.

 

“Please,” she started softly, “I want it to be with you.”

 

“Lavellan...” Her name slipped from his lips like a beg that she wouldn’t make him do this and yet as he glanced back at her he knew he would. Too much he loved her and too much did he want with everything he had to satisfy and pleasure her. Hers was a body that deserved to be worshipped and so he whispered, throatily, “Get on the pier.”

 

She obeyed, her lips parting in confusion as she sat on the edge of the platform even as he stayed in the water. Without even a moment of hesitation he pressed into the crook of her shoulder, laved his tongue over her skin and peppered kisses at the soft, delicate flesh of her neck. Hands trailed down her body, through the valley between her breasts before splaying on her hips and working off her breeches.

 

The soft gasp he earned drove him on and he was leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nips at her skin until he reached the curve of her chest. It was there that he sucked and toyed at her nipple and when he eventually freed her of the remains of her soaked clothes he slipped his hand between her legs and felt the heat and wet of her sex. Pausing, he leant back and stared into her eyes as his fingers brushed over her slick folds and he saw second by second as her breath hitched in her throat in anticipation.

 

Words were inadequate to describe the disappointment that stole over her when he pulled his touch away, but it faded in moments when he spread her legs before him. With his head ducked down and shoulders flexing he ran his tongue up her sex, parted her folds and pushed at her entrance.

 

Practised and knowing even in spite of the centuries it’d been, he drew her to moan and jerk under his touch. The taste of her filled him, like wine flooding his mouth that he’d forgotten what it felt like to have her scent marking and staining him. And how much he now realised that he wanted that others would smell her on him so that they might know how she, who to so many was no more than a slave, had enthralled and bound a god.

 

When he felt her body clench and tense, her rapture so close he would have driven her into it with one purposed flick of his tongue, he paused. He slipped from her legs, ran his tongue over his lips and caught the taste of her that smeared over them. Slender and long, he moved his fingers where his mouth had left and he caught her lips in a kiss as he pressed into her slick, longing heat. With a few practices strokes he brought her to come and he swallowed the cry she offered him as he drew out her pleasure with everything she had to give.

 

Panting and curling her fingers around his smooth head, he waited a split second for her to calm and then, with small flare of magic he flooded her senses with stimulation and forced her into rapture a second time. She moved to scream but his lips muffled her even as her eyes went wide. It stoked and fed his already aching desire to see her undone so completely before him.

 

“ _You_ ,” she breathed as their mouths parted and she pressed her forehead to his. “Please.”

 

What followed from her lips were broken, crude strings of elven, a beg that he would fill her and he would oblige, graciously, because the throbbing in his breeches was bordering on unbearable.

 

“ _Dar ma_ ,” she breathed, a plea that he would be hers. How much she didn’t know that he’d belonged to her for centuries if she’d only remember. Even as he pushed himself onto the pier and yanked off his clothes her sweet urging made him long and ache for her that much more.

 

“ _Isala emma’in ar_.” A needy, throaty prayer that she needed him as she leant back against the wooden planks and him over her.

 

With eyes dulled grey from his wanting and lust he caught her gaze, staring even as she hooked her leg around his waist and tried to pull him closer. The tip of his length pressed to her entrance and she moaned, loud and without care that someone might hear them.

 

“What part of me do you need?” he asked and perhaps she thought he was teasing but it was more than that – she was so much more to him than the lewd cries to fill her wet sex.

 

“All of you.” She brushed a hand between them, trailed it over the base of his length and he curled his fingers around hers with a soft sigh. “This,” she whispered as her touch slipped away again. “But more than anything your heart, your love.”

 

“You have had my love for longer than you could ever know, you never need ask for it.”

 

Fingers reached up and took his necklace, the wolf jaw that had been dangling against her breasts, and she pulled the long string around her neck, binding them together. Slowly, gently, he pressed into her and it tore a hiss from his throat to feel her heat around him again after so long on his own.

 

With arms braced over her and fleeting, desperate kisses to her lips he brought them to release. Her nails dug into his skin and he shifted, pressed his forehead against her collarbone and groaned against her soft flesh even as his shoulders flexed and he felt the tight coil of desire flitting on the edge of rapture inside him.

 

“Ma vhenan.” She broke his skin, drew blood and left angry welts as he spoke against her. “You tame me.”

 

“Like a wolf?” she gasped. The wooden planks of the pier shook and creaked under the weight and movement of their union.

 

“Like a feral beast drunk on your love because it is the only thing reminding him of what keeps him sane.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“You. It has always been you.”

 

With one final push she came undone below him. Back arching up off the pier she clenched around him with a cry of ecstasy. It drove him to rapture and with a throaty groan he unravelled and spilt himself deep within her. As the waves of pleasure crashed over him he trembled over her, his lips spilling ancient elven like confessions that she would never understand.

 

It culminated in one final whisper against her skin, the words tumbling in the language he was so much more familiar with than the clunky, awkward tongue of the humans. “You should have been my _queen_.”

 

And with it, he collapsed over her, exhausted and spent as her arms embraced him and traced idle, meaningless patterns on his back.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blehhhh I hope I do this scene justice... It was really hard to write :(
> 
> Also, again two lovely people have drawn art for this story! They can be found here: http://icamon-chan.tumblr.com/post/110610665847/a-little-something-i-made-fanart-of-brelakors (of Lavellan!) and here: http://procrastinating-alien.tumblr.com/post/110613147384/kneel-a-scene-from-ch-14-of-brelakors (of the throne scene in Arlathan!)
> 
> Thanks again for the kind words and support <3

Later, Lavellan slept curled up against his chest, her soft hair brushing against his skin with every breath. The cold air washing over them would have been uncomfortable, had he not spent the last hour keeping them warm with his magic.

 

Solas couldn’t sleep.

 

It wasn’t that lying on the pier naked was dangerous – it was – but far more that the longer he held her in his arms, the more his guilt started to eat away at him. What had been moments earlier a joy indescribable after so long alone, had now turned into self loathing and hatred.

 

To her, he was a lie.

 

The slender fingers curling through her white locks did not belong to the man she thought she’d fallen in love with because that man, in truth, did not even exist. He’d caved because he loved her so much and it pained him to see how the influence from the Well was torturing her. But it didn’t make it right; it didn’t change the lies or the deceit, or the fact she’d given herself to someone that barely let her see the truth under his mask.

 

Solas watched her slumber with a pained expression pulling at his features because he realised, then, that this had gone too far.

 

With her laying in his arms that night it reminded him of when they’d been together centuries ago, how many times she’d curled up against him in his bed and every morning he’d woken up to her head pressing against his chest like she did now. And being reminded of what they had once shared inevitably reminded him of the memories she didn’t have.

 

It was in that moment that he decided, somehow, he would try and explain to her who he really was, because the secrets and illusions were killing him, slowly, and he needed her to remember everything they’d had as he did. He shifted ever so slightly and woke her. She blinked and squinted at him as she shrugged off the clinging remnants of her sleep and he smiled, softly, cupped her cheek with his hand and pressed a fleeting kiss to her lips.

 

“Come with me, vhenan,” he whispered as he reached for his clothes, regretfully still damp, and she obliged dressing and humouring him.

 

He led her away to a secluded glade where a waterfall gushed into a small pool. The moonlight reflected off the surface and cast an eerie glow around them. The barriers between worlds were thin here, he could feel it like a quiver in the air as if all he had to do was tug for the smallest burst of magic and he could summon a font of power. Reaching for her hand, he led her into the clearing, their fingers intertwining and his eyes glancing at her cautiously, hopefully, as he pieced together what he meant to say.

 

He had to tell her who they both where and what they’d once shared and he thought, for the first time, just maybe she would believe him. He tried to find the words he needed but they escaped him so he deflected for a moment with idle talk about their surroundings.

 

“The veil is thin here,” he started as they came to a stop beside the lake, “Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?”

 

She glanced around curiously, before violet eyes finally landed on him and her brow tugged into a frown. “I can feel... something. Whispers in my mind like the ones in my dreams since I drank from the Well.”

 

He pulled back ever so slightly, his eyes widened in interest as he, carefully, asked, “What do you see in your dreams?”

 

Where before she had hesitated sharing the Well’s influence over him, now she obliged telling him softly.

 

“Memories, I think, probably from the priest’s but-” she cut herself off and bit at her lip for a moment. “I die in every dream, lying on the ground with my heart cut out of my chest.” She paused for a moment and her lips pulled into a smile. “But you didn’t bring me here to talk about that.”

 

“No, I... did not.”

 

He hesitated as he said it because he realised now in whatever small way, drinking from the Well had triggered at least part of her memories to return, even if she didn’t realise they were hers. And that realisation in itself suddenly made him feel like his throat was closing up and refusing him, as if every memory that was restored to her was also forced to the forefront of his mind tenfold. Images of what had happened in the past flashed before his eyes as he stammered on and tried to ignore them without much success.

 

“I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he started, but in his mind his thoughts were racing in far different patterns.

 

_Andruil leering over her at the hunt, an arrow poised at her heart and so close to snuffing out her life had she not pulled a desperate barrier up at the last minute._

 

The first time he’d almost lost Lavellan and it consumed him so much he barely heard her reply.

 

“I’m listening, and I can offer a few suggestions.” She was smirking at him but he didn’t notice it and his lips moved of their own accord, slipping his practiced words out even as he started to doubt if he should say them.

 

“I shall bear that in mind, but for now-” A split second pause.

 

_How Corypheus had towered over her at Haven and how, again, his actions had come so close to ending her life._

 

“You are... unique. In all of my life I never expected to find someone who would change me so much for the better.” Again he hesitated.

 

_A recollection of holding her heart in his hands and how it had felt as if her blood had stained his fingers far longer than after he’d washed it away._

 

“You are important to me, more important than I ever imagined.”

 

She smiled, her hand reaching forward and cupping his as she replied. “As you are to me.”

 

“Then what I must tell you, the truth...”

 

It was only a moment’s hesitation but for him it was enough to remember in vivid detail how he’d found her dead body and every tortured, agonising emotion that had went with it.

 

It made him hesitate, made him doubt what he was doing and, most importantly, it made him realise how many times he’d endangered her life by pulling her into his plans. And it forced him to realise he couldn’t do it to her again.

 

For both their sakes he couldn’t drag her into his madness a second time, for her life and for his sanity because to find her dead at his feet a second time would break him beyond repair. And he had to continue with his plans because to continue to live in blissful ignorance with her felt as if he was betraying himself and everyone he owed it to fix his mistakes. So he twisted his words from the truth he’d meant to tell and closed his heart off to protect her.

 

He told her the truth about the vallaslin instead, offered to remove it for her and did so when she, through shocked and teary eyes, asked him to take it away. He freed her from the slave markings a second time, but where before seeing her barefaced before him had filled him with joy, this time, it was tainted and darkened by what he knew he had to do.

 

It was with her standing before him, her fingers curling around his that he whispered the last kindness he had left to give before he broke her heart. “You are so beautiful.”

 

She smiled at his words, leant towards him, captured his lips in a kiss and he returned it with a guilty, heavy heart, memorising every feel of her mouth on his and the curve of her waist because he knew it would be the last. When she tried to deepen it he pulled back with a pained, regretful look and held her at arm’s length. Even before he uttered a word he saw the slow motions of recognition dawning on her features.

 

“And I am sorry; I distracted you from your duty.” He stepped back, his brow furrowing as his heart twisted at the hurt that flashed in her eyes. “It will never happen again.”

 

“Solas,” she started and he shook his head even as she whispered his name because it made him want to take her back and pretend as if it wasn’t better this way.

 

“Please, vhenan,” he begged, hoping that in some way she might understand that he did this for her sake even as his own heart was breaking.

 

“Don’t leave me,” she continued as she stepped towards him but he held his hands out in a silent plea that she wouldn’t come any closer. “Not now, I love you-” her voice broke as she said it and he shook his head, cast his gaze away and forced back the tears that fought so hard for release.

 

“You have a rare and marvellous spirit,” he continued, “In another world, we had-”

 

“Why not this one?” she interrupted and again he stepped back from her, crushed her heart with every movement he made to distance himself from her.

 

“I can’t,” he whispered and he moved to leave before adding finally, regretfully, “I am sorry.”

 

But her words caught on him like barbed wire digging into his skin that held him back when she shouted, “That’s it then? You fuck me and then leave me after you take my virginity?”

 

“I-” he stumbled over words that refused him the grace or fluidity that he usually showed as he turned to face her. “I didn’t mean...” And he trailed into silence, his poor response drawing fury and anger over her features. In truth, he hardly blamed her for the reaction, he hated _himself_ for what he’d done.

 

With a step towards him she fisted a hand in his woollen jumper and pulled him to her height. “Didn’t mean what?”

 

“For it to end this way,” he finished softly and with hands gently clasping her shoulders he pushed her away, his eyes starting to sting with the tears he tried so dearly not to shed before her. “I am...” A pause for a moment as he searched her features with anguish staining his own and then added, “Truly sorry.”

 

And then he left her alone in the glade barefaced, embarrassed and broken while he was tortured by the realisation that his selfishness and love for her had, ultimately, only hurt her more than if he’d suffered in silence and kept his feelings to himself. He wished in that moment on the balcony so many weeks ago he’d had the strength to turn her down to spare her the heartache, but his love for her had lasted centuries and it would never falter or dampen, even now, even after everything he did to her that night.

 

Her love was what had changed everything; it had brought him through his darkest times and made him believe that there was hope left in the world. But it had also cost her life once and he knew it would again if he did not push her away. It was like the sweetest of poisons and he far preferred that she hated him and let him continue on his path alone, then love and follow him a second time. Because the latter he knew would only find her at his feet again, bleeding and lifeless.

 

Solas did not return to camp that evening. Instead, he lost himself alone in the woods, wracked by his guilt and anguish for what he’d done. He staggered through the trees blinded by the ache in his chest and tortured by the smell of her that still lingered on his body. When his foot caught on a stone he fell to the ground and it was there, bent over and trembling, that he wept.

 

For her his tears fell, for the injustice that meant the only way he could keep her safe was by keeping her from him.

 

All he ever wanted, and he couldn’t have it because if he did, he would only lose it again. 


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this is ok, had a kinda poopy day (everything is fine now though) so I'm not that confident with it... Also uhh the next chapter is probably going to be delayed by several days, sorry - I'm moving house tomorrow so it'll take a while to get settled in/internet up and running and so on :(
> 
> Anyway! One of my amazing beautiful friends wrote a little valentines day thing based off this fic, you can find it here! http://crimsonadvent.tumblr.com/post/110784949682/valentines-day-prompt
> 
> And as an additional Valentines day bonus, and also a 'Sorry the next update is going to take a while', there's another little fic that I wrote set in Arlathan based off this story, you can find it here if you're interested! http://brelakor.tumblr.com/post/110798373752/kiriel-and-solas-what-do-they-do-on-valentines

He had not spoken to Lavellan since the glade.

 

They had returned separately to Skyhold and she’d evaded him with uncanny efficiency since. It broke him not to be able to see her but he told himself it was for the better this way, so he endured alone and in silence for days. Solas’ mood since returning from Crestwood was melancholy at best and not even Cole’s well meaning attempts to cheer him up made a difference.

 

The spirit-boy persuaded him to visit his spot in the tavern that afternoon and Cole tried, for some time, to distract Solas from his thoughts but it was hardly effective. He appreciated the effort but nothing could dampen his self loathing from knowing he’d broken the heart of the woman he’d loved for centuries on end.

 

Then, Lavellan’s gentle lilting voice started to grace his ears and he turned around, confused at the direction it was coming from because he’d thought he was alone with Cole. It took him only a few seconds to notice the open window and he walked to it, entranced as if she’d cast a spell on him and gripped his hands along the windowsill. In reality she had flooded him with magic years ago in the form of her love.

 

His blue eyes easily picked up the back of her head as she sat on the lower roof below the window, talking with Sera and her hands clasped around a biscuit. How the bright light of day reflecting off her white hair like the shining crystal spires once had, it made him want to slip his fingers through her locks and beg her forgiveness. But no, he could not and yet he stayed and listened in spite of how much he knew he shouldn’t.

 

“Friggin elfy shite piece of twat,” Sera grumbled and Solas had no doubts about who she was speaking. “Do you want me to slap him, yeah? Because I’ll do it. Even do more than just slap him for-”

 

“That wouldn’t help,” Lavellan interrupted softly and in her voice he heard the hurt he’d caused that cut her so deep.

 

“You sure?” The rogue glowered at the ground metres below them and then spat a particularly colourful insult. “Friggin ass!”

 

“Thank you for the biscuit, though, it-” Lavellan paused as her voice faltered and he knew she was fighting back tears as she added, her voice choked and strangled, “It helps.”

 

He tore himself away from the window before she drove him mad, but Cole’s frustratingly accurate insights tortured him as the spirit-boy murmured, “You love her, for so much longer than she ever realised.” A pause, and then he added, “But you left. Why?”

 

“I did not have a choice,” Solas replied bitterly.

 

 

“She’s real,” Cole continued mercilessly as the mages own thoughts were played before him unbidden. “But she shouldn’t be. And yet she _is_. Her skin against yours hot, desperate, wanting, as if it was only yesterday when you held her last-”

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

It was barely more than a hiss spat between his lips, and he regretted that his anger got the better of him, but to have Cole torture him the way he did was beyond what even he could handle.

 

Then the spirit-boy added, “You will always love her because she was once the only thing that made you more than a beast.”

 

He left abruptly before Cole had the chance to continue because the last thing he needed was his thoughts being played out before him through his friend a moment longer. And far more so than that, he could not bear it if Cole had picked up on what might have been going through _her_ mind.

 

Down the stairs of the tavern he fled until he was so close to the exit and it was then that he realised who was sitting at the table beside the door. Bull gave him such a loathing stare that the mage knew he was aware of what he’d done to Lavellan, and with a small sneer Solas stared at the qunari and held his ground even as Bull chastised him.

 

“You, Solas, are a fucking _ass_ ,” the qunari started, each of his words pointed and emphasised. “It’s not that you left her, but you don’t take a girls virginity and then break her heart when something like that obviously means a lot in your damn elven culture.”

 

“It was an accident,” Solas replied thoughtlessly through clenched teeth.

 

“So you just, what? Tripped and your dick fell into her? Like I said.” A pause as Bull glared at him. “You’re an ass.”

 

The mage glowered and push past to leave, but Bull was loathe to give him such an easy escape and he tripped the mage up with his foot. Solas stumbled, unable to catch himself as he fell into the puddle of mud just outside the entrance to the tavern.

 

Coated in dirt and his clothes wet and covered in sludge, he picked himself up and moved, seething, to his quarters.

 

\---

 

With a bucket of water placed before him on the ground, Solas knelt and peeled off his filthy woollen sweater and started cleaning the mud from the cream fabric. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, far more furious at himself than at Bull’s actions. He hardly blamed Lavellan or her companions for reacting the way they did, in their position he would have done little better. He knew how it looked to them because they didn’t understand why he left her, and he couldn’t tell them.

 

So absorbed he’d become in his melancholy that when a soft voice graced his ears it took him a long moment to realise he’d been interrupted.

 

“Why?”

 

Lavellan’s single word made him still. Staring into the water before him as if it would provide him the answers he needed, it took him a long moment to find a reply.

 

“Don’t do this,” he whispered eventually. “I can’t-”

 

“Tell me why,” she interrupted but even if she tried to force anger into her voice he heard the way it cracked and gave in to her hurt. “You owe me that at least.”

 

“There are no answers I could give you that you would want to hear.” Abandoning his sweater he stood and turned to face her, because he could at least bring himself to give her the respect of holding her gaze. She’d earned that at least. “Harden your heart to a cutting edge, and put that pain to good use against Corypheus.”

 

Her only response was to gaze at him for a long moment in silence, her brow furrowed and her features twisted into the hurt and confusion he’d given her. Eventually she stepped towards him, her eyes searching his features for answers he refused to give and his muscles disobeyed him, denied letting him move because his heart was tortured and aching to take back everything he said, even as his mind told him he couldn’t.

 

When she was inches from him he added, brokenly, “The blame is mine, not yours,” and yet her hand still slipped up to cup the side of his face despite his words as if she refused to believe him that easily.

 

“It was irresponsible and selfish of me,” he continued quietly and he couldn’t push her away while her palm rested against his cheek so softly. Against every part of him that screamed for him to stop, he reached up and curled his hand around hers, his blue eyes unwavering as they held hers. “Let that be enough.”

 

“I can’t let us go like this.”

 

Her breath ghosted over him as she spoke and it was like watching a disaster unfold second by second before him when she leant up and trailed her lips over his. It was barely a whisper of a kiss but it was enough to make him recoil from her. With his hands grasping her shoulders he pushed her away, a choked gasp escaping him as he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“It is finished,” he told her after a long moment and even as much as it broke him, he added pointedly, “Inquisitor.”

 

The use of her title twisted her features into anger and he could see, second by second, how she closed her heart off and locked away the hurt he’d caused her until only her fury at his actions remained. It was bitter and sarcastic when she replied with, “You really don’t let anybody see under that polite mask you wear, do you?”

 

“You saw everything once,” was his soft reply. His words only deepened the loathing etched into her features and it was all he could do to offer, weakly, “Let me know if I can be of any more help planning our final fight.”

 

She rolled her eyes and turned away and he felt the words welling up unbidden and unwanted in his throat before he could stop it. How much he wished he didn’t say it, but past his lips they fell like tainted vile things and he knew it would only cut her even deeper and he hated himself for it.

 

“For what it is worth, I have loved you longer than you would ever realise.”

 

“No you haven’t, you _used_ me,” she spat and she didn’t even give him the courtesy of turning to face him. “You don’t even know what love is, you have no heart.”

 

But how he did, and only since he’d known her in his life. It was with a glower at the walls for the cards fate had dealt him that he hissed, low and only to himself, “Bittersweet how it almost would have been easier if you’d never come back from the dead.”

 

With a heavy sigh he reigned in his anguish and shoved it deep down with the rest of his guilt that festered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Turning back towards the bucket of water his gaze caught on the stairs leading up from his quarters, and the man standing there. Dorian was seething at him, his hands balled into fists at his sides and Solas stared, surprised, for a moment and it was all the hesitation the human needed.

 

In one swift stride Dorian moved towards him and levied a punch against Solas’ features. His nose cracked with a sickening noise under the impact and a gasp spilled from his lips even as blood poured down his features, the metallic tang of it sharp on his tongue. It took barely whisper of his magic to numb the pain and correct his broken nose, but the gesture and humiliation hurt far more than the physical act itself.

 

Yet the first thing Solas did was glance at the direction Lavellan had left in. He found her staring, wide eyed and shocked as she hesitated in her path, and she moved towards him for a split second. But then he saw it, inch by inch, as she closed her heart off to the empathy she felt at his injury and her body became hostile and unwelcome to him. Moments later she was gone, and he was left to wipe the blood off his face alone with all the healing her presence had done to his savaged heart over the months yanked away.

 

Behind, he was left with a mangled ruined thing that barely had the strength left in it to continue beating. The only thing that kept him going then was his determination to fix the mistakes of his past.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I'm back! Sorry for the delay and thanks for your patience! Just as another side note, I'm deliberately not going to go into specifics (until Bioware gives us more info) on the whole 'what happened with Solas/Mythal and why does Solas leave and what is he doing' thing because I'm fairly certain I'd screw it up if I tried, just so you know <3

Like cold shattered remnants, the orb lay broken on the ground. It was gone. Irreparable. And he couldn’t even begin to process it. All his hopes had been bound up in recovering his foci after they defeated Corypheus, and to have it lost...

 

Solas didn’t even have any contingency plans in place because it had never occurred to him that this might happen. And yet it had.

 

With shaking hands he held the broken fragments of the orb, the cold metal unwelcome against his skin and he stared, silently, for so many minutes as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and weak, a hollow shadow of his usual smooth speech.

 

“The orb,” he started and he paused for a long moment, his eyes wide in disbelief. It was little more than a choked noise when he added, “No.”

 

“I’m sorry.” It was Lavellan that offered to comfort him in that moment and he didn’t deserve it in the slightest.

 

After all that had happened she’d barely talked to him since their encounter in his room, and yet her words were laced with genuine empathy in that moment. It shamed him, and he forced himself to his feet as his mind raced to piece together another plan. The ground was uneven and broken, rocks digging into the bare soles of his feet but it barely graced his thoughts while his hopes lay shattered.

 

“How?” he breathed as his gaze flickered to hers, and he meant that it should have been impossible for her to care after everything that had happened between them. When her brow furrowed, he continued softly with, “It is not... your fault. It has never been your fault.”

 

“Maybe we can fix it?” she offered and her words were hopeful and bright, but it did nothing to lighten his mood.

 

“If only it were that easy,” he whispered and he let himself gaze at her for a long moment, drawing in her appearance in what he knew could easily be the last time he’d ever see her in the flesh. What options he had left to him he knew wouldn’t hesitate to deny him the chance to ever see her again, and he didn’t want to forget her bright eyes or soft features.

 

Her skin was bruised and bloody from their fight with Corypheus, white hair tangled and knotty and body rising with soft pants from the exertion it had taken to defeat their foe. Covering her like a thick cloud was the tingle and shimmer of the magic she’d used in their fight and yet despite all of this she was still beautiful to him. He would long for her, far more than he had when she’d died because this time he would have to live with knowing she was out there somewhere, but that he couldn’t be with her.

 

“Whatever may come,” he started softly, “I want you to know that what we had was real.”

 

“Why would you-” she cut herself off as her brow furrowed and understanding dawned on her features. “You’re leaving.”

 

Her features flashed with anger, hands clenching into fists at her side and muscles tensing but nothing slipped from her lips. Her reaction was hardly unexpected to him.

 

“You have every right to hate me.” A pause and the fury on her features faltered to her hurt for a moment at what he said. “I hope in time, you might understand and... remember.”

 

It took a heavy breath for him to steady his wayward emotions so that his voice wouldn’t break and crack when he added, “You will always be my heart, Lavellan.”

 

He turned from her then, on the one who’d been everything to him. And he did not look back once as he left because he knew if he did, he would cave to what his heart begged for.

 

\---

 

He was a selfish creature and he always had been.

 

Even after he left the Inquisition, even after he broke and abandoned her, he still visited her dreams.

 

It was an intrusion of her privacy, but every night he was desperate to glimpse her again even if only for a second. Any sight of her, no matter how fleeting, dulled the longing in his heart for a time.

 

With his ability to twist and meld dreams at whim, Solas thought he could hide from Lavellan, that he could watch her to pacify his longing without her realising what he was doing. It worked in some ways – she did not figure out what he was doing for many weeks. But he’d been tortured by nightmares that evening before he’d bound them to his will, and their clinging fear at his mind twisted his form when he found her in the Fade.

 

So it was as the beast that he watched, and where before he could hide himself from her view, as the wolf her gaze locked onto him immediately even through the twisted shadows of deception. Her features turned into fear and terror for moment, and she backed away from him but no sooner had her trepidation become apparent then had she gritted her teeth and forced a steely look onto her features.

 

Before he could flee her fingers were twisting with magic and like ropes she conjured a spell from the Fade that caught and bound him to the floor. He was a fool to ever come here as he struggled against her magic.

 

“Dread Wolf,” she hissed and the ropes were like a vice, digging into his flesh the more he tried to free himself. “Do you think I don’t know you are there after the months you spent haunting me?”

 

With no other option left to him he slipped into his elven form but twisted his appearance into the one who she’d thought stalked her dreams so many years ago, the way he’d looked in Arlathan. In this way he could shrug off the ropes of her spell and stand, and she moved away from him a few steps as he rose to his feet free from the confines of her trap.

 

“Why me?” she continued in a shout. “Why now?”

 

When he gave her nothing, she continued angrily with, “Answer me! I have earned the truth through pain and heartache!”

 

It was barely more than a whisper when he replied but she heard him say it nonetheless. “I do not haunt you to cause you anguish.”

 

For a moment she hesitated, her features faltering to surprise and the tension in her body relaxing. But almost as if she realised how dangerous it was for her to lose her focus around one she thought meant her such harm, she pushed a snarl onto her features and hissed, “Then why are you here?”

 

“Because you have bound me to your side.”

 

It was a long minute of silence that stretched between them and she stared at him, wide eyed and confused at what he told her. His blue eyes held her gaze, calculating and considered his options. He could have fled, could have slipped from her dream so easily but even then he wondered, with the smallest part of him, if he could convince her to remember.

 

Truly he was self absorbed that he even considered it, because there was no benefit for her to learn the truth any more while he was gone. He tried to justify it to himself that it would be a favour to her that she know, as if it might make her understand better why he left her and that it was an injustice that she was still missing so much of her past. But they were only excuses to placate his want that she not stare at him, Fen’Harel, as if she hated him.

 

When she said, “What do you mean?” he caved.

 

With a small wave of magic he twisted his appearance into the one she was so familiar with, the one that she’d spent months whispering sweet nothings to and kissing openly and without shame while he was with the Inquisition. A choked noise escaped her and she stared, speechless, for several moments before she reigned in her shock and left only her disbelief and anger behind.

 

“No,” she hissed and magic bristled at her fingertips as she shouted at him. “You won’t torture me with him.”

 

The power flowing through her unleashed as a vile angry spell. It ripped over his body, her magic mixed by what her keeper had taught her and the strength the Well had given her. It hurt, and he gasped as it bristled over his nerves like fire against his skin. With a twist of his wrist he dispelled the spell she’d sent rippling over him, but she’d summoned another at her fingertips in seconds and he frowned as she advanced towards him.

 

“My keeper taught me how to throw you from my dreams,” she snarled and her fury scared him in that moment because it was foreign and unnatural against her kind features. “I will not suffer your taint again.”

 

And with a jolt of magic over his body she jarred at his connection to the Fade. Like a mauled, mangled thing, she broke his hold over the dream and yanked him awake. With panting gasps he tried to force air into his lungs because he felt strangled from the violent way she’d forced him from his sleep.

 

It took minutes for him to calm his breathing and he knew from where before her keeper’s teaching might only have been enough to throw him from her own dream, since she bound with the Well her powers had increased enough that she’d managed to temporarily fray his connection to the Fade. With fingers pressed to his temples he soothed the ache throbbing in his mind with a small burst of magic and then leant back against the ground where he’d made camp that night.

 

Beneath the night sky he stared up at the stars, his palm pressed to his forehead and admonishing himself for the foolishness that had overcome him to think he could still see her after he left. It was selfish of him to ever stalk her dreams, but the longing had been driving him mad and he thought he could get away with it.

 

Evidently he realised, then, that he couldn’t.

 

He wouldn’t visit her again and with his lips pulled into a snarl he rolled onto his side, glowering into the dark night as he carefully edged back into sleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: Not quite done yet, 2 more chapters :)


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done... just one more chapter! Thanks so much for sticking with this!

The voices in her head were torture.

 

With nothing to distract her since Corypheus was defeated they taunted and consumed her, and they’d moved past haunting her dreams and into the waking world. Weeks were spent huddled in her room trying to block them out but it never worked. If anything, each day that passed made it worse to the point where there were times she couldn’t even identify her own thoughts from the foreign ones any more.

 

Lavellan crouched in the gardens that morning, cradling her head in her hands and rocking as she tried in vain to shut them out. Fingers dug into her skull as if it would help ease the pressure in her mind and her teeth were clenched so tight her jaw was starting to ache. So taunted by the visions racing through her mind was she that it took her a long while to realise she wasn’t alone.

 

“Do you regret drinking from the Vir’abelasan now?”

 

“What?” It came as little more than an airy breath past her lips as she glanced up and found a familiar face gazing at her from under the hood that framed his features. “Abelas? Why-”

 

The voices screamed in her head so ferociously that it blinded her vision and she bent over, hissing because it was agony to fight against them, as if her mind was tearing itself apart trying to work out friend from foe.

 

_“I will not make you my slave.”_

 

The voice sounded familiar and she saw flashes of a man draped in silk robes but his face was shadowed by darkness.

 

_“I found a way to restore what was stolen from you.”_

 

He shifted the slightest and she saw the thick dreadlocks he wore slung over his shoulder.

 

_“It is your name that every slave whispers a useless prayer to each night.”_

And it was her that was saying it, the words falling from her lips unbidden and without her command.

 

_“You stopped, you changed, that means more than you give yourself credit for.”_

 

They weren’t her words, but still they welled up in her throat against her will and she didn’t know why.

 

_“They may try and use you to get at me.”_

 

The man shifted for a moment and she saw the pale blue in his eyes. They calmed her but the fear welled up tenfold as he turned to face her completely.

 

 _“Arlath, ma vhenan,”_ he whispered and his pointed teeth flashed, a wolfish grin pulling his lips back as he added, his voice dripping with predation, _“You change my entire world.”_

 

She knew who he was and his name tore from her throat in a scream.

 

_Dread Wolf._

A cool hand pressed to her forehead and flooded her with magic that stilled her thoughts and brought her from her turmoil. A desperate whimper escaped her as she was granted clarity and as her vision cleared she found Abelas kneeling before her, a frown tugging at his features and his gloved hand pressed to her forehead.

 

“That will dull the Vir’abelasan’s influence for a time,” he told her quietly.

 

“Why are you here?” she breathed between the panting that wracked her body and he pulled his hand away, his deep yellow eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her features. It was almost as if he was looking through her and it made her more than a little uncomfortable.

 

“I was... _invited_ by your spymaster to assist your worsening condition,” he replied slowly. “What is it that you hear?”

 

“Voices like a cacophony in my mind, screaming and wailing until I can’t focus on anything else.” With a pause she glanced down at her hands and twisted her fingers together. “I see memories like visions when I’m awake but it’s like I’m part of them, as if they’re mine but I know they can’t be because they’re foreign to me.”

 

Abelas was silent for a long moment, his features curious but betraying little. Eventually he asked, “What kind of memories?”

 

“They’re always with the same man. He kisses me, touches every inch of my body and I know his name, but-” she paused because it shamed her that she frequently had scenes playing in her mind of the Dread Wolf pleasuring her, as if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d been in her dreams again up until she forced him out recently. He was the betrayer to her people and every time she felt his lips on hers it was like a wave of guilt washing over her as if she’d failed her clan yet again, even from beyond the grave.

 

“It is the one you call Fen’Harel?”

 

How Abelas knew was beyond her but she nodded meekly and pressed her lips into a thin line.

 

“Tell me,” Abelas started and he shifted slightly to cross his legs on the ground, “What do you know of him?”

 

“I know he tricked his kin and sealed away our gods out of his own malice.”

 

His lips parted to reply but he hesitated for a moment and gave her a quizzical look. Finally he said, “Let me tell you a story.”

 

With a frown tugging at her features she nodded, slowly, and he spread his hands in the air. Magic sparked between his fingers and he created for her wispy figures that danced before her eyes and played out his tale for her. One of the figures resembled Fen’Harel as she’d seen him in her mind, and the other, a woman draped in silver fabric with copper hair that swept down her back.

 

“The man you know of as Fen’Harel, he was once an arrogant, prideful creature.” Abelas’ lips pulled into the faintest of sneers as he spoke. “He did care about the people, though. Eventually. But his guilt ate away at him and it threatened to drive him mad. Then he met her.”

 

The copper haired woman moved towards Fen’Harel as Abelas continued his tale. “She loved him despite his past and that love calmed him. It eased his hatred of himself and gave him purpose. But she was taken from him.” With a flick of his wrist another figure formed in the air with a bow in her hands and the arrow poised at the other woman. “For his fictitious role in Mythal’s murder, Andruil killed her and ripped her heart out. And in so doing, so did she rip out Fen’Harel’s heart as well.”

 

The arrow flew into the copper haired woman and she fell. As the image of Fen’Harel knelt beside her and mourned, Abelas asked, “Do you know what his lovers name was?”

 

“How could I?” she whispered because his question was pointless and rhetorical.

 

“Lavellan,” he replied as the images disappeared in a small burst of magic.

 

“That’s not true.” She shook her head to emphasise her disbelief at what he’d told her. “My clan would never take the name of someone-” she paused and her eyes narrowed at Abelas. “The Dread Wolf could never love another.”

 

A small sad smile played at his lips. “I thought that once myself.”

 

“You’re lying,” she muttered and she pushed herself to her feet and stepped away. He did not move to stop her, his yellow eyes observing her curiously and she shook her head, disbelieving of what he’d told her. 

 

Moments later she ran.

 

\---

 

The thoughts in her head worsened as the days went on and she refused Abelas’ help after what he’d told her.

 

Lavellan’s advisors begged her to stop being stubborn but Abelas’ tale haunted her so much because it mirrored so clearly the images she had in her mind of the Dread Wolf and herself. It scared her and it started sapping at her strength and energy even in spite of how much she slept.

 

Exhaustion overcame her eventually but still she tried to fight the memories on her own. It was stumbling through the corridors of Skyhold that night that Abelas found her again. He caught her by her arm when she very near collapsed and, mercifully, he extended his magic into her to mute the voices once more.

 

“A moment of your time?” he queried.

 

“I’m fine,” she whispered and she tried to pull away but her legs were weak beneath her and her eyes heavy and sore from the hours that she’d spent away battling with her own mind. “I don’t need your help.”

 

“You aren’t,” he chided. “And you do need it.”

 

With a small frown, she conceded with a nod and moved away with him. He led her, much to her hesitation, into Solas’ old quarters and there he paused. Yellow eyes fixed on the murals decorating the walls, and he ran his hand over the pictures. As he did so she thought she caught him frown from under the shadow of his hood.

 

“Curious that he would paint these,” the sentinel murmured, his fingers trailing over the most recent unfinished fresco that Solas had left.

 

It made Lavellan uncomfortable to be in here even to this day, and she stared at the floor because it hurt less than to gaze at the pictures Solas had left behind. She never came through here unless she had to these days.

 

“Did he not realise it would draw questions?” Abelas shrugged and stepped away from the wall. “Perhaps he thought no one from the ancient times would see it... except you. He always was a prideful creature.”

 

“You can start making sense any time now,” Lavellan snapped and it wasn’t that he irritated her, far more that this room wrenched up feelings in her long suppressed and buried.

 

Abelas turned to her and was silent for a long moment, his eerily yellow eyes staring at her so intently it made her uncomfortable. Finally when he spoke, his voice was tinged with intrigue. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

 

“Solas said that to me once,” she replied bitterly.

 

If she didn’t know better she would have sworn his lips tugged into the smallest of smiles. “I suspect we are speaking of the same person, this _Solas_ and I.”

 

“How could you if-”

 

“Let me explain, please,” he interjected and she paused for a moment and then nodded.  “You have been cheated and lied to far more than you realise, Lavellan,” he started softly. “It took me some time to realise it because he has changed much since I last saw him, but that man, Solas, he was not who he said he was.”

 

“I assumed that much-”

 

“And neither are you,” Abelas interrupted.

 

“What?” she blurted, and maybe she sounded idiotic in the way the word slipped rashly from her lips but his speech found no sense or reason in her.

 

“Those visions and voices you have that you assumed where memories from the Vir’abelasan, they are your own – or at least the ones that assault you on a regular basis are.” She didn’t have anything to offer him that explained how ludicrous he sounded, so he added, meaningfully, “They are struggling for purchase in your mind because they belong to you but you do not acknowledge them. If you would trust me a moment, I can show you.”

 

“This... doesn’t make sense,” she whispered but even as she said it she was accepting the offered hands he gave her, placing her palms in his and allowing the magic that he summoned to flow into her skin.

 

“Nothing ever does when Fen’Harel is involved,” Abelas muttered and she parted her lips to reply, to state her shock at whose name he had mentioned but his spell was flowing into her and clouding her vision and thoughts so much that there was nothing else she could focus on.

 

It came as a tidal wave of crashing, haphazard memories and at first they did not make sense. They rolled and slid over one another, assaulted her mind with so much information she couldn’t sift through it all. And then, slowly, they began to piece together. It started from the beginning, from images of a little slave girl playing and ignorant of what was to come for her. Then there was the darkness, the dulled world of dampened emotions that persisted for years upon years. Beyond that she was flooded with the memories of the one who had loved her and she him, of the man with long, dark dreadlocks and a face so familiar she would have recognised it anywhere.

 

She remembered, in vivid detail, how she had been Fen’Harel’s lover, how he’d freed her and she changed him and how she’d loved him with everything she had until Andruil had killed her. Lavellan realised then how the orb had trapped and saved her over the centuries that passed, only to release her once more two and a half decades ago. And, above or all else, she realised how all along the one she called Solas had been the man she loved so long ago and how he’d never told her the truth.

 

He would have known, she couldn’t fathom anything less, and all his actions, all his hesitation and words that once had seemed somewhat strange and unexplained, now made perfect sense to her.

 

The first thing that slipped from her lips as her memories, in all their entirety, were returned, was, “All this time...”

 

And then, with a hiss of indignation her features twisted into fury and she added, hotly, “I am going to _murder_ Fen’Harel.”

 

“I suspected you might say that,” Abelas replied with a soft dry chuckle.

 

Lavellan spat an angry remark to excuse herself, and perhaps later she’d remember to thank Abelas for what he’d just done for her. But in that moment, she needed to find her idiot of a god lover and scream her frustrations at him for deceiving her for so long. Perhaps she was being irrational, perhaps Fen’Harel had no choice and couldn’t restore her memories, but so help her if it didn’t do anything to numb the fury racing through her veins.

 

So, with hands balled into fists, she stalked up towards her quarters and threw herself onto the sheets of her bed. There, she used her ability to twist the Fade in her sleep, which had only now been returned to her, and she hunted Fen’Harel down mercilessly to confront him for his actions.


	39. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes at the end <3

His dreams were rarely pleasant any more. If not for his ability to manipulate them, he would have succumbed to nightmares years ago. In his sleep, Solas cut himself off from the rest of the world, refused memories the chance to resurface and sometimes pushed out even the spirits that tried to reach for him.

 

So it came as a surprise that evening to feel the presence of another in his dreams that evening, her soul so bright against the dull surroundings it was almost blinding. Lavellan’s anger permeated from her in the Fade like a thick, heavy cloud shadowing her footsteps.

 

“Solas,” she started and it came like a twisted bitter word dripping from her lips like poison. “Or perhaps I should say Fen’Harel?”

 

“Lavellan,” he breathed and he could barely glance over his shoulder let alone turn to face her. Hands balled into fists at his sides as he added, begging, “Please, don’t-”

 

“You’re an _ass_ ,” she interrupted and he pressed his lips into a thin line, accepting the anger she lashed him with because he knew how much he deserved it. “Did you convince yourself what you did wasn’t wrong to help you sleep better at night? To help you cope with how you left me after you used me?”

 

“I never meant to hurt you,” he offered softly and the small bitter laugh it brought him clashed with the soft words that spilled from her lips.

 

“I know you didn’t.” A pause for a moment and he knew she’d stepped closer yet he still couldn’t turn to face her. “You would not change that much since the ancient times.”

 

Her words made him falter and he frowned, glanced over his shoulder for the smallest of seconds while his tongue managed to curl around broken, tentative words. “You... remember?”

 

“I do.”

 

It was only two words but to him it was everything he’d hoped and wished for over months. For a moment he forgot why he’d pushed her away as he turned, completely, to face her. Angular features twisted into joy so strong it brought the stinging feeling of tears to his eyes and lips pulling into a wavering, hesitant smile.

 

His hand shook to betray his tentative belief in her words until his fingers tangled in a stray lock of her hair, still white, and pushed it behind her ear. His touch lingered over soft cheeks and then, with a choked gasp, he crumbled.

 

Falling to his knees he buried his face in his hands, his breaths in ragged gasps and body trembling to know what he’d wanted for so many months with so much of his being had been granted to him. For a moment it did not matter that he’d left her, that he should push her away for her own sake because it meant everything that she wouldn’t stare at him the way the dalish had taught her to. To see the understanding in her violet eyes broke him and he leant into her gentle embrace when she crouched down before him and curled her hand against the back of his smooth head.

 

“Fen’Harel,” she whispered after several minutes, her fingers running soothing circles against his skin and he managed to lift his head to gaze at her. In her eyes he saw the pain and sadness that had been her punishment for the cruelty fate had inflicted on them both.

 

Shaking, he traced his thumb over her lips as if to remind himself that she was real, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d hallucinated her returning to him while he slept. The love in her gaze slowly faded when he let his touch fall from her features, her eyes narrowing and expression hardening as her anger started to show.

 

He expected it, he deserved it and it came as little surprise when her touch slipped from his neck. Her hand came hard in a slap across his cheek, nails digging into his skin and he gasped, faintly glowering at her as he cradled his stinging face. With a brief flicker of magic the pain and scratches were gone, because in the Fade it would never truly have been real, but the notion of what she had meant was still very much there.

 

“You _knew_ ,” she hissed and her voice was deep and accusing, their affections early so easily lost to the hurt that they both carried. “All this time you knew, and you never said anything!”

 

“And what would I have said?” he drawled and crossed his arms over his chest as he stared her down. “You’d spent more than two decades with the dalish, grown up being told I was the monster in your every nightmare. Do not pretend you would have believed me for even a second if I told you you were an ancient elf and the Dread Wolf’s lover.”

 

“You could have restored my memories,” she retorted and her muscles flexed each passing moment with her anger.

 

“No, I couldn’t, not without my orb.” When he noted the way her features refused to soften or lose any of her pent up frustration with him, he snapped and muttered, annoyed, “Did you think I enjoyed watching others leer and fawn over you and knowing I could not say anything? Did you think I took pleasure in how you stared at me as I was nothing more than a stranger, as if nothing we ever shared mattered?”

 

She hesitated for a moment, her features softening and then she whispered his name so delicately it was like a prayer falling from her lips. It jolted his reverie, forced him to remember why he had left her in the first place and why he couldn’t let this dream unfold in the way the both of them wished that it would.

 

“I can’t,” he whispered and he stood and stepped away from her, held his hands up in surrender and to push her away when she followed. His heart twisted at the hurt that flashed across her features.

 

“You’re leaving,” she said as she put the pieces together.

 

He nodded slowly. “I have to fix the mistakes I made.”

 

“Let me help you.” He expected she would have said it, she’d never let him face his problems alone in the past and he’d hardly thought she’d stop now. He was shaking his head and denying her before her sentence had even finished.

 

“No, vhenan.”

Her brow tugged in confusion and frustration. “Why?”

 

“Because I can’t watch you die again,” he replied, his voice broken and raw as his memories of how he had held her broken bleeding body in his arms flashed briefly through the scene.

 

He reached towards her, let his fingers trail across her jaw and cupped her cheek, gently, for what he knew would be the last time. Even if it wasn’t real in the Fade, he had to feel her skin against him just once more. She reached up, pressed her hand against his for a moment before he pulled back and shook his head.

 

“I will always love you, Lavellan,” he told her as his fingers began glowing softly with magic. “And I am sorry, but you will never see me again.”

 

And with the flash of a spell, he forced her from his dreams and sealed her out, permanently, so that she would never find him and he would spare her the consequences of his madness before it took her life a second time.

 

It was cruel and would ruin both their hearts. But for his mistakes, he had no other option.

 

A penance that he deserved for his sins over centuries.

 

 

  _Fin_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know I kinda tagged this story with happy ending and I realise now this ending isn't exactly happy, so for that I'm sorry, I really wanted to stay true to the actual ending of the game as much as possible :(
> 
> However, to make up for it I will be posting an AU happy ending 'Solas returns and they make up' fic hopefully later today, possibly tomorrow. It'll be posted under the series tag for this story that I created 'Through Prism and Shade'
> 
> The other important thing I want to share is thaaaat... I really would like to continue this story when Bioware releases more content/DLC. Really really would like to continue it if I can (hopefully Bioware doesn't completely contradict everything I've written here when they release more content haha!) So keep an eye on this series when more content gets released if you'd be interested in reading a potential sequel :) I also have a prequel planned for the Dragon Age Big Bang event and maybe a long-ish oneshot of Lavellan's time when she was with her clan so... it's not quite over yet! These will all be posted under this same series that I mentioned, although I don't have a timeframe as of yet <3
> 
> And finally, thank you soooo much to everyone who's been along on this crazy ride with me, you guys have been so amazing and it makes it such a pleasure to write when there's such awesome people reading and leaving such encouraging support, thank you a million times!
> 
> (Final image at the end of the fic by the ever amazing slavetothemocha.tumblr.com <3)


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